


Screaming Words (Left Unspoken)

by L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but not unreasonably slow), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Comic Book Science, Emotionally Constipated Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Time Travel, Top Steve Rogers, Topping from the Bottom, power bottom bucky barnes, pre-Infinity Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living as a fugitive is hard. Living as a man who has to wake the love of his life from cryo is harder. Why? The codes in Bucky's brain don't have a fix yet, but Steve has worse news to deliver. Bucky's dying slowly from self-destruct protocols inside him. Now, it's a race against time to save Bucky once and for all.</p><p>And maybe finally tell Bucky that Steve's been in love with him since he was a sixteen-year-old kid in Brooklyn. Oh and not get extradited by the UN from Wakanda. That'd also be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And in the loudness of the jungle, Silence but screamed

**Author's Note:**

> So I did a thing....  
> Rest assured that no one dies (see that LACK OF mcd? haha) and it will end happily. Also, there will be cute scenes in here! I'm not a heartless monster...
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no degree in science and what you see is what you get. Heed the comic book science tag if you are a science person and you go "but that's preposterous!" I've tried to be as ambiguous as possible while still conveying information. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

It’s so much louder in the jungle than in the quiet of 180 acres of Avenger-owned property. Steve’s watching the mist roll through the trees. They’re so green, like God didn’t even bother waiting for the paint to dry before he slapped their existences here. The mist is slow and lazy– having all the time in the world to crawl through the hills, the rocks, the vines… It looks like it’d be quiet. But it’s so loud. Hoots, squawks, growls and noises he doesn’t even know how to figure out permeate the air like laughter in a crowded room.

Six months. He’s been in Wakanda for six months. Sam had asked that he’d come back to the States, but Bucky’s here. There’s no way in hell that Steve’s leaving without Bucky. It doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or if it’s thirty years from now. He won’t leave without him again.

In those six months, the Accords have seemed to do nothing except make people argue. Steve’s watched from the sidelines on T’Challa’s televisions as Tony’s been paraded around like a political ally and used as a way for Republicans to lie to the world about America being the strongest. ‘We have the Avengers and look what we can do.’ The world isn’t fooled and neither is Steve.

Time’s are still hard. Tony at least still has Rhodey though. Hopefully Rhodey will keep him in check. Steve shouldn’t care so much. But he does. It’s not that they were ever best friends like Sam, and certainly not Bucky– but he and Tony had bled together. They’d served together– in a manner of speaking. And Steve almost severed that smug and tired head from Tony’s body…

So yeah, Steve feels a bit guilty. Plus, what actually happened to Rhodey. God, Steve feels enough guilt to snap his spine. Sam feels the guilt too. Talked about it being like Riley all over again for someone else. But Tony is nothing if not clever and last Steve heard, Rhodey was walking with the aid of Stark tech, walls, and canes.

A primate of some sort starts calling out, bring Steve’s attention back to the present. Six months ago– six months today– and no end in sight. Bucky’s still frozen. Steve’s no closer to his best friend than when he met him on a bridge in DC over a couple years ago.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice asks.

Steve smirks, a soft, subtle little expression, but it’s there. He’s not had the heart to really do much more than subtle since he woke from the ice all those years ago. A soft chuckle here, a quick smile there. That’s about all he can muster before he’s left feeling exhausted and like he’s lying to everyone around him.

“Wakandan jungles are louder at night,” Steve says.

T’Challa walks into the room, his feet completely quiet. He keeps to the walls before coming to stand by Steve next to the floor-to-ceiling window. “I can’t sleep without the sound.”

Steve watches T’Challa, his furrowed brow, the proud way he holds his chin. He’s had to do a lot of growing up in the past six months– not that he wasn’t already grown up. Steve’s found him to be one of those ‘old soul’ types. He appreciates that T’Challa would rather joke about how loud Steve’s footfalls are instead of when he wanted to ship in a record player and some big band music. He even _really_ understood when Steve asked that the record player be kept with Bucky, and always playing songs.

Steve hates the thought of Bucky being there in silence when the jungle around them is so alive. Steve doesn’t really remember what happened when he was under the ice. Maybe like a nap, like death or something. He hadn’t dreamed. He hadn’t even known he was a he. But he does remember the silence.

“I used to think Brooklyn was loud,” Steve jokes. It’s forced and the twitchy smirk with it is even more forced, but it’s there. He’s trying. That’s all he can do these days. Try. Try to make amends with his friends. Try to find a way to save Bucky. Try to work out a way that doesn’t result in him heading straight for a penitentiary. Try…

“I spoke to Natasha today.” T’Challa looks over at him, waiting for something. A reaction perhaps, or maybe a simple acknowledgement that he’s spoken. Steve offers none. “She’s letting herself be taken to prison to make up for the past.”

“We’re all trying to make up for the past. Jesus, Nat.” Steve heaves a heavy sigh. Trying and sighing. It’s about all he’s good for now. Leaving the shield behind had been one of the easiest things he’d ever done, but now with so much time in between? He’s come to think that perhaps he’s lost himself. Lost sight of who Steve Rogers used to be. Captain America was an icon and Steve had played the part. He’s still not really sure where Steven Grant Rogers–a kid from a Brooklyn that doesn’t even exist anymore– fits into this new-age world. Captain America fit. Steve’s not so sure about just himself. And now Nat’s trying to do the same, get rid of the Black Widow Mantle and just _be_. Is it this hard for her too?

“Have you spoken to Tony?”

“No.” Steve’s reply is so fast that he’s almost started with himself. He’d sent a letter with a phone and that was about all he could do. He’s been waiting and waiting but maybe… maybe after nearly decapitating someone, that person just doesn’t want him around anymore.

“The CIA and Security Counsel are still looking for you and Barnes. You’re on a no-fly terrorist list.”

Steve smirks again. Of course he is.

“I have it on good authority the Avengers– what’s left of them. Have been asked to hunt you down.”

Steve scoffs. Of course they were. “Do they know we’re here?”

“No, but it may be best if we ask your friends to also join us here. It’s easier to protect you this way.”

Steve nods, looking back out at the rolling mists of the jungle. The first hint of dawn is starting to peak over the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. Steve should sleep. He should.

But he doesn’t.

* * *

Coffee tastes sweeter in Wakanda. Steve’s not exactly sure if it’s the bean or the soil or even if the place grows it– but it tastes sweeter. He’s sitting in a stainless steel kitchen with all the bells and whistles, sipping coffee and staring out at the vast expanse of jungle from the massive bay window. He’s not sure how high up they are when it comes to actual measurements, but all he knows is he sees clouds go by every now and then.

He swallows a big gulp, looking down at his phone. “Hey Clint– you got my message?”

“Dude, you realize you called me at four in the morning your time right?”

Steve blinks. “Sorry. I didn’t wake the kids did I?”

“Nah, just the wife. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lies. It’s always a lie. Steve hasn’t been fine since the day they injected the serum into him. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Eh ya’know. Having to uproot the kids from home and movin’ them around hasn’t been easy. They think it’s a game.” He sighs and Steve can hear the toll it’s really taking on him. Nothing but guilt ravages Steve’s heart. “Laura’s taking it harder. This is– it’s not what she wanted.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. The coffee tastes like oil against his tongue now. His stomach twists in on itself as the guilt seeps from his battered heart and down against it like acid. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“S’okay. Fury’s gonna work something out for them. We’re just trying to get the money. S’not easy without– well. I didn’t realize how much we relied on _him_ till that money wasn’t there anymore.”

“Or how much we took for granted.” To add to the unending guilt, Steve puts Tony’s hospitality up at the higher end of the list. He’d known Tony was doing a great deal for them, but Steve always crossed it off as necessary or because of the job. Tony gave them a weekly stipend that quickly racked them all up to earning around 300k a year. It was certainly enough to afford a place in Brooklyn, but Steve hadn’t wanted to leave the Avengers base– until shit hit the fan.

“Look, we’ll work it out. Fury’s dippin’ into some contacts and seeing who we can trust. S’hard. Never realized how hard it was to be a criminal.”

“You’re not a criminal,” Steve responds, his voice sharp and authoritative. “You were just helping me. But listen, maybe Fury doesn’t have to do all that. T’Challa wants everyone here. I could ask about housing your family. With shit goin’ down– well– it’d be safer if everyone was here.”

“Everyone?”

“Wanda, you, Sam, Scott. Yeah.” Steve tries to take a sip of coffee, but it settles heavy against his sstomach.

“Why?”

“Because the dear Accords now control Tony and Tony’s been asked to hunt us down.”

“Shit,” Clint mutters. “Okay, but I can’t exactly move my family without help.”

“I know. Hang tight and get everyone ready. T’Challa’ll have to send a private jet or something.” Steve felt his heart squeeze. If it hadn’t been for him, Clint would still be at his farm with his family, living the life he should have had. It wasn’t fair to forcibly take a man’s home away like that.

And then there was the issue of Steve being on a no-fly list. Was Clint on it too? His family? “Don’t leave till I give you instructions, okay Clint?”

“Copy that, Captain.”

“Clint,” Steve begins. He’s said it so many times now that he’s actually astounded by how easy it is to _really_ mean it this time. At first, it was like lashes against his skin– hot and stinging. Now it’s as easy as cutting butter. “That’s not me anymore.”

“Yeah well, you’ll always be my captain.” Clint hangs up.

Steve sits there, staring at his black coffee, listening to the loud jungle around him. No matter what’s happening in this world. That jungle will always be loud.

* * *

Steve’s sitting across from Bucky’s cryo tank. He comes in here to talk sometimes. He knows Bucky can’t hear, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone– even if it’s just an illusion. T’Challa has been kind. He’d probably listen to Steve’s woes, but no one really understands him like Bucky does. Old habits die hard.

“I hate myself.” He shifts on the chair. He knows Bucky would wring his neck for that. “For what I did to you. Because I did this, Buck. You went to war and I didn’t. I was _so_ _pissed_ about it. About thinking I needed to prove something. I talked it up about needing to do good and protect my country, but you saw through it. You saw through everything. I did what I did– because I thought I had something to prove. And yeah… I saved you. I don’t regret what I did. I know it was for selfish reasons, but don’t think I regret it.” He looks up at Bucky’s tank, expecting some kind of answer and only sees Bucky’s sleeping face. A lump forms in his throat. He’s getting so accustomed to them that he doesn’t even really feel it until he tries to breathe and it sucks in wet and mangled.

“But I’ve always been selfish, Buck. You know that. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted to be able to– I dunno. Be a man. Serve. Prove that I could. And all you wanted was for me to be myself. But I’ve been someone else for so long that I don’t even know who that guy is anymore. I brought you back into the line of fire, and everything that’s happened to you is because of what I did. This is all on me. Those deaths– the ones you think’re on you?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Those are on me.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t ever move. But instead of leaving, Steve moves over to the computers. He’s not exactly sure what everything means, but he knows the panel that blinks and is shaped like a body should be all green. Bucky’s got a tiny bit of yellow around his navel. Steve stares at it, and then looks up at Bucky, then back at the monitor. Yellow isn’t red, but it means caution usually. And so Steve’s reasonably nervous. He clicks the little yellow, watching numbers and words he doesn’t understand come up.

“Damn it.” Steve turns out of the chair, moving like a hunter on the prowl to find someone to talk to about this. It’s a tiny yellow blip. It could be absolutely nothing but Steve’s not taking any damn chances. Not with Bucky. Not ever with Bucky. That fear of chance is probably the biggest reason why he’d never told Bucky that he–

“T’Challa!” Steve calls, seeing the man break out into a large smile. “Hey uh– Can we get one of the doctors to look at Bucky?”

T’Challa just cocks a brow. “He’s in cryo.”

“Yeah, I know but– There’s this little yellow around his belly-button and I know enough that the body scans should all be green.”

T’Challa’s brows furrow, his smile fading into a look of concern. “Have you spoken to everyone yet?”

Steve purses his lips. “Not yet.”

“You need to. I’ll get a doctor. You call the rest of your friends.” T’Challa is already walking away before Steve has a chance to say anything back.

Steve doesn’t want to call his friends. He wants to be with Bucky.

* * *

Steve walks into the cryo chamber, looking at a doctor over at the computer and two practically pressing their faces up against Bucky’s tank. His heart speeds up and a tiny knot presses against his sternum.

“You call everyone?” T’Challa asks. “I need to send my own people to get them. So they need to be ready.”

Steve nods, looking at Bucky’s frozen form. He hates seeing him like this. Every time he looks at him– no matter how many times he looks at Bucky like this– it’s like Steve’s shoving his face into a blender. He feels the pain slice from his face, down into his shoulders, and levels out at his toes. “Clint and his family are in Bosnia. Wanda and Sam are in Turkey and Scott’s actually in Kenya. He’s on his way.”

“Good,” T’Challa replies. His brow is still wrinkled like before and the way his shoulders are tense– it’s not the way T’Challa holds himself. He’s always so fluid and ethereal. Now he’s rigid, like any other man except he’s not like any other man. He’s exceptional and Steve knows it.

“What’s happening with Bucky?” Steve asks, his heart starting to creep up into his throat. He can hear his pulse getting louder and louder in his ears.

“We’re not sure,” T’Challa responds. “His vitals are fine but–”

“Something’s wrong,” Steve concludes. He takes a step toward the tank, putting his hands up to _do_ something but what can he? Rip Bucky out of the tank without letting him come down the proper way? Start bashing in heads? What can he do?! Nothing… The answer is a hollow yet resounding nothing.

“There’s something, yes,” T’Challa indulges. “But we’re not sure. You need to remain calm.”

“I am calm,” Steve snaps.

T’Challa just stares at him with that weighted gaze. A gaze of a king sizing up a man and wondering if he’s friend or foe. Steve instantly backs down, bowing his head.

“We’re working on it,” T’Challa says. “You don’t look well. Do you want water?”

“No,” Steve answers quickly. “I just wanna make sure my friend’s okay.”

T’Challa nods before turning back to the doctor at the computer and speaking Wakandan. Steve stands there, feeling like a bull in a china shop. These are men and women with strong minds and strong talents. All Steve’s good for is punching and nearly killing friends.

Steve’s _really_ good at nearly killing his friends.

* * *

Steve hasn’t felt sick since before the serum. Maybe the occasional headache or sneeze from dust, but he’s never been sick. He feels sticky and there’s a sheen of sweat against his skin. His stomach is in knots and he’s refused T’Challa at least four times to eat. He couldn’t keep anything down if he tried. There’s something _definitely_ wrong with Bucky, but the doctors have no idea what.

They can’t get in there to fix it without disrupting the cryo freeze. To figure it out, they’d have to wake Bucky up. Steve can’t tolerate the idea of scaring Bucky. He’d blink into existence again, unsure of where he is or who the people are around him. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he suspected HYDRA at least for the first few moments of consciousness. He’d then probably get all the memories back of why he put himself under again and start to feel relief that he’s being woken up. Being woken up means they’ve found a cure for his coding. Steve doesn’t want to give him false hope. He doesn’t want to disappoint Bucky.

T’Challa sighs, running his slender fingers over his face and tugging at his skin. It’s almost adorable, except Steve’s two seconds away from throwing up on his friend’s shoes and that look isn’t one of happiness– but of stress.

“Is there no other option?” Steve asks, his voice low so that only he and T’Challa are privy to the conversation.

T’Challa purses his lips, staring at a nondescript corner of the room. “There are other options, but none as efficient as waking him up.”

“We can’t wake him. We’ve got no idea how to–”

“The yellow has spread on the monitors,” T’Challa interrupts. “It’s now red around his navel.”

“Jesus,” Steve all but moans dejectedly. “What is it?”

T’Challa just looks down, sucking in his bottom lip.

“What is it?!” Steve growls. His ears are ringing, fingers tingling and his teeth feeling like they’re vibrating. He’s sure he’s a few seconds away from a panic attack and that just makes him all the more desperate to understand the situation. Everything Steve’s done since he knew Bucky was alive, it’s been for Bucky. He’s so close. Bucky’s _right there_ and Steve can’t even touch him. He can’t hear his laugh, can’t see his smile. He can’t interact with the one person he has left and that’s breaking Steve’s heart.

Because Steve loves him. And not just the way brothers do. Not the way best friends do when they grow up together, and it’s as if they may as well be family. No. Steve _loves_ Bucky. He’s loved him since he was sixteen and Bucky started wearing his hair differently. It had used to be curly, then he started slicking it over and that was it for Steve. Bucky’d become the prettiest face in Steve’s world, and it only made matters worse that Bucky was the key to Steve’s heart. Everything he did, everything he said, everything– it only made Steve love him more.

Which only made Steve suppress it more. He’d been scared. He’d always been scared. Not of being gay or bi or whatever newfangled word was out there to describe Steve. It didn’t really matter to him. He had loved Peggy, he had loved Bucky and he’d felt something– maybe something lingering for a past he couldn’t have again– for Sharon. It’d been a mistake and he’d done it _right in front_ of Bucky. But Sharon was Peggy’s blood and that made things so confusing and– Jesus… Something’s wrong with Bucky and Steve’s panicking about why he’d kissed Sharon six months ago. He hasn’t even talked to her since, given the circumstances.

“T’Challa,” Steve whines desperately. It’s a sound he hasn’t let anyone hear in this age. Back in Steve’s time, the only people who got to hear it were Bucky and his ma. “Help him.”

“We need to wake him.” T’Challa takes a deep breath, his chin lifting. “It’s the only way.”

Steve looks over at Bucky’s sleeping form. Well, he’s not exactly sleeping. He’s frozen and paused but he looks peaceful all the same. “You sure this’ll save him?”

“I’m sure that if we do not, he will die.”

“Okay. Shit, fuck. Yeah okay.” Steve watches T’Challa move away and starts speaking Wakandan to the doctors in the room. All Steve can do is stand here. Stand and watch his best friend continue to suffer when Steve thought this cryo sleep would be the surefire way to save him.

* * *

Steve’s watching the heart monitor like it’d flat line if he blinked. He hears the gentle hum of the machine bringing Bucky’s body heat back up to normal. It’s soothing since this is the only room in the entire building that seems to be quiet and away from the jungle’s sounds. Steve didn’t realize how much he needed all that sound until he found himself staring down at Bucky on a hospital bed with wires and tubes attached to him. Everything’s so still in this room.

Steve’s sitting as close as he can to Bucky’s face so that when he wakes, he won’t panic. Steve’s not entirely sure that’ll help him, but he’s giving it a chance. If anything, Steve can subdue him if he has to. He grits his teeth, hating himself for even thinking about _subduing_ Bucky. It won’t come to that. Steve’s positive it won’t come to that. Bucky’s got his memories back. Steve’s not sure which ones, but he knows he’s got them. Things will be different this time.

Bucky’s hand twitches and Steve feels his heart leap up into his mouth. He has to swallow roughly to try to gobble it back down. He leans to the nightstand, grabbing a water bottle and chugging it down.

Bucky’s face twitches this time, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.

Steve’s breathing heavily, panic and excitement running through him. He doesn’t want this, but he _does_ want this. He wants Bucky to see him, to laugh with him, to touch him. God, he wants Bucky to touch him. Steve’s never needed much, a squeeze of the shoulder here, maybe a bump of the elbow there. He doesn’t need much, but he needs it.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, unable to hold back anymore. He’s building up inside, burning and expanding and he’ll burst if this doesn’t happen soon.

“Nnn,” Bucky responds weakly. Bucky’s mouth opens, he takes a deep breath before swallowing loudly.

Steve closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing and everything he’s ever told himself. If Bucky wanted him, it would’ve happened already. They are friends and will always be such. So Steve puts on his brave face, offers a small smile when Bucky finally opens his eyes and they look at each other. Steve’s used to this. Used to lying.

“W-water,” Bucky asks. Steve reaches to a cup and lifts the straw to Bucky’s lips. Bucky takes some sips before leaning back and breathing in deeply. “How long?”

“Six months.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. It’s not exactly happy, but it doesn’t sound bitter either. “That didn’t take long. I expected years.”

“This isn’t about that,” Steve begins. His toes go cold and it feels like ants are crawling all over his skin. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to start out of the gate with upsetting Bucky, but he can’t lie. The last time he lied to someone, Steve paid for it big time. He’d lost that friend and caused Bucky to lose his arm. He won’t do that again. “I mean, we’re working on it but–”

“Steve,” Bucky interjects. “Why then?” He doesn’t sound angry. Miserable, maybe? His teeth are pressed together and he looks like he’s going to puke.

“Do you feel okay?”

“Answer the question,” Bucky grits out.

“Because something’s wrong,” Steve answers, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Something’s wrong and we needed a closer look at you. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s silent for a long time. Steve always thought after all this, after what had happened with Tony and the Avengers that Bucky and Steve would find time to talk it all out. To discuss their friendship and revel in being together again. A hug maybe. But that had never happened. After everything that occurred, Steve had barely any time to _look_ at Bucky, let alone prep himself to break the emotional dam he’s built since the day he discovered he had a chip on his block. And even before Bucky went under, everything was still too new. They were content with each other’s presence and Steve didn’t want to push it. He didn’t want to move when Bucky had looked like he’d rather die. Steve knows that feeling so well it tears at his soul to know his best friend feels it too. It’s not fair to Bucky, to suffer so much and be rewarded with ash and blood.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky finally asks.

“We’re not sure. Or at least– they’re not tellin’ me.”

Bucky just twitches his mouth, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’ll get a doctor,” Steve begins, but Bucky’s flesh arm– his only arm– reaches out and grabs Steve’s wrist. Steve freezes, his mouth dropping open as he looks down. Bucky’s fingers are cold as ice but Steve can feel how strong his pulse is.

“… Nevermind,” Bucky says, letting go of Steve’s wrist. “Thanks.”

Steve offers a strangled smile– tight-lipped and full of pain. He leaves the room, feeling his heart break and trail behind him like a road of broken glass.

* * *

T’Challa’s walking down the long hallway toward Steve, his gaze heavy and his jaw clenched. Steve sucks in a breath, preparing himself for the undoubtedly bad news the man’s about to deliver. It seems all Steve’s life now is just bad news. Aliens attacking New York, SHIELD lying and actually facilitating HYDRA, Ultron… Tony and his stupid ideals and erratic behavior. It’s all bad news. Steve’s beginning to wonder if God just wants humanity destroyed. There has to be a reason for so much pain.

“Clint and his family just arrived, if you wish to see them.,” T’Challa announces, squeezing Steve’s shoulder supportively.

Steve nods, a little relief edging into his cold heart. “And Bucky? Any news?”

“Bucky–” T’Challa looks away, his big brown eyes convening sympathy and regret in a way that Steve isn’t used to seeing anymore. This man doesn’t hide emotion. He embraces it. It’s a talent Steve never learned. “Steve, I will not lie to you.” He meets Steve’s gaze. “He’s dying.”

There are moments in life where someone experiences shock so deep, it’s like time stills. Breathing stops. The earth stops spinning. There are moments where the heart can’t decide if it wants to keep beating or if it’s endured enough. Steve’s whole body is struggling with wanting to give out or somehow find a way to endure the cacophony of pain that presses into it like needles beneath the skin. His heart doesn’t beat quickly, he’s not even sure it beats at all. His life is tied to Bucky’s and there’s a small, faint moment where Steve is grateful this can all end soon. But then his mind begins to work, the reality of it sets in like concrete poured into a foundation. Bucky is dying. Steve isn’t. Bucky…is dying. And Steve can’t let that happen.

“If you need time–”

“No,” Steve interrupts. He wants to run. He wants to run and run and get the anxiety that’s bubbling up to level out before he explodes and crackles into the air like a dying firework. He wants to scream. He wants to cry and bang his hands against glass and curse the world. But he doesn’t. He can’t. That’s not who he is. That’s never going to be who he is. “How do we fix him?”

T’Challa nods, licking his lips. “We’ve been datamining the leaked Winter Soldier files. We know they put mind control codes in but we’ve just found they also put in self-destruct protocols. He’s been too far away from HYDRA for too long. They’ve detonated. His cells are no longer regenerating like they should.”

Steve takes a breath. He looks down at his shoes. He does everything he can to stay in the moment and not go running to beat anyone who has ever affiliated with HYDRA into bloody pulps with fading pulses. “How…do we…fix this?”

“His cells are dying. The serum that has helped him is now actively hurting him. We need to find a way to reverse the serum.”

Steve’s lips silently open as he stares at T’Challa. “Reverse the serum?”

“We don’t know the side effects. So we need to do a lot of research. There may be other ways and my team is investigating. You should greet Clint and your other friends. They’ll be arriving shortly.”

“I need to be with him.”

T’Challa looks up sadly, offering a poised shrug. “You also need to speak to your friends. They are scared too.”

Steve sighs, looking away and out into the rolling mists of the jungle. T’Challa’s right. Clint has his family here now. His kids will be confused and his wife is more than anxious about this. Sam and Wanda don’t know anything other than they’re being smuggled into Wakandan borders. Scott’s been driving up from Kenya as if his life depends on it (which it arguably does). They all need to be together too. No doubt they’ll all have questions that Steve probably doesn’t even know the answers to.

* * *

“I knew the day Ross showed up we’d be in for nothing but trouble,” Sam says, looking out over the jungle as everyone is scattered around a large sitting room. “Shit just keeps gettin’ worse.”

“We’re safe here?” Wanda asks, her big eyes searching for any reassurance that Steve can muster. In his time with her, he’d become a mentor– a big brother of sorts. Steve’s taken that duty to heart and seeing her so afraid just makes him want to punch himself. They’re all suffering and it’s all his fault.

“T’Challa will protect us,” Steve reasons, nodding at her. “As long as we stay in the Wakandan borders, we should be safe. But we’re all not allowed to go out alone.”

Wanda laughs bitterly. “I seem to be trading prisons for bigger prisons.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Steve says, coming to kneel in front of her and rest his hands on her knees. She tenses beneath him but then relaxes.

“International criminals– terrorists. Psychopaths,” Scott says. “I’ve been following a lot of news sources. There’s a lot of people who want you dead, Cap.”

“That’s not my name,” Steve says, giving Wanda another gentle squeeze to the knee before standing up. “Did the news tell you anything else?”

Scott shrugs, shaking his head.

“I already told Clint, but the Avengers have been tasked with hunting us down. T’Challa didn’t give me more details than that, but he wanted you all under his roof.”

“And if they didn’t put it in the news, it’s probably because there’s a kill order,” Sam concludes. “Fantastic.”

“Like that went so well the last time,” Scott scoffs. He leans against the couch corner, looking down at Wanda.

“Tony wasn’t trying to kill us,” Steve says. “He was trying to bring us back peacefully. This time? It may be different. Since Nat’s serving time in prison for what she did to help us, we don’t really have an in with what the Avengers are planning. Vision could kill us all.”

“Not me.” Wanda looks up at Steve with a red glow behind her eyes. Her lips are pressed together tightly and Steve finds himself taking a step back, not out of fear– but respect. She’s right.

“Well I’d be dead,” Steve deflects with a small smirk. Wanda smirks back.

“So we stay here until the Avengers don’t have to kill us?” Scott asks. “And when’s that gonna be exactly?”

“Well, my kids are young. They can learn Wakandan,” Clint says with a shrug. “Nate shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Steve sighs, looking at everyone. They don’t look worried. They don’t even look remotely surprised. They look tired. Purple bags cling under their eyes, their faces are pale. Wanda’s hair isn’t vibrant or shiny. They look like people who’ve been in a war too long. Though, Steve thinks, that’s exactly what they are.

“It may not have to be forever,” Steve answers. “But yeah. It may be a long time. I’m sorry.” He hangs his head, chewing his bottom lip. No amount of apologies are ever going to fix what he’d started with Stark, but he still couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

T’Challa comes into the room. He looks at everyone but doesn’t smile. It doesn’t seem anyone really has the heart for smiling these days. “Steve, Bucky wants to speak to you.”

Steve’s heart twists in his chest. He stands up, looking over his shoulder at everyone before leaving the room. “He okay?”

“He’s stable for now. But he knows. The doctors have explained everything to him.” T’Challa ushers Steve back to Bucky’s hospital bed and then closes the door behind Steve; leaving Steve alone with Bucky.

Steve stands there. He’s not sure if he should speak first or try to smile. So he doesn’t. He just stands and looks. He wants to move. He wants to go right up to Bucky, grab his hand and tell him how scared he is for him. He wants to make promises he isn’t sure he can keep, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to know what those knuckles feel like under his lips but he _just can’t_.

“Hey,” Bucky says. He scoots himself up the bed a bit to sit up more. He doesn’t smile.

“You need anything?” Steve asks.

“Just wanna talk. I feel like– well we haven’t really gotten to. Now that I’m awake? We may as well make use of it.”

Steve nods, taking unsure steps further into the room. He grabs a chair and pulls it next to Bucky’s bed. “I’m sorry–”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky interjects, holding up his only hand. “I should’ve known. Guess tellin’ your prized pet there’s a time bomb in it doesn’t really go over well. Or maybe they did and I’ve just not gotten the memory yet.”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Steve consoles. He’s desperate to convince himself this. Bucky seems to be taking it in stride, but Steve isn’t. He’s a storm under the surface but it’s not fair to dump all that on Bucky. Bucky’s the one experiencing this, not Steve. Steve doesn’t have the right to feel the way he does, but he feels it, and he can’t do jack shit about it. “You’ll be okay.”

Bucky sighs out his nose, his lips pushing together. “When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.”

“Buck–”

“I’m not.” Bucky swallows before taking in another deep breath. “I’m not giving up. I don’t wanna die yet. I mean, I know I should. It’d be safer that way–”

Steve sits back, feeling like someone is squeezing his throat shut.

“–but I.” Bucky stops himself. He’s not looking at Steve, but his eyes show everything that Steve knows he can’t say. He’s hurting. He’s hurting so much and Steve just has to sit here and let him take it. Why does God curse good men? Bucky had been a good man and the war twisted him and HYDRA condemned him. “I can’t leave you.”

Steve’s lips part, his eyes widening. He stares at Bucky, knowing the weight of his gaze is probably uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to look away.

“So– I don’t wanna die… cause I’m not ready to leave you yet.” Bucky looks down at his lap, watching his fingers flex and relax.

Steve watches those fingers move. They’re spread open and his fingers could slip right between them. He just has to lift his damn arm and reach out. He knows Bucky wouldn’t shy away. But what would be something of support and comradery to Bucky would be so much more to Steve. Steve can’t lie to Bucky like that. Steve sits back, his body going cold as he puts distance between himself and Bucky. He’s built up a wall already and Bucky hasn’t even been awake for more than ten hours.

They sit there in silence. Steve unable to say the things he wants to say, or even find ways to tell half-truths. He’s always been a terrible liar. He knows Bucky would see right through it. Bucky doesn’t say anything else. He’s said his piece. He looks worn out and like he’ll pass out at any moment. He keeps staring at his fingers. They just sit like that.

They sit and say nothing.

* * *

Steve’s on his way to see Bucky for breakfast the following morning when he sees Scott and Sam in the living room. The large TV on the wall is on and the talking heads seem to be getting into it with each other. Steve walks in, getting little head nods from each man as they all go back to watching the screen.

_“My question is, why isn’t the US government doing more? Captain Steve Rogers is a supersoldier, he knows national security secrets and he’s made it clear that he can’t be trusted. What’s to stop him from forming alliances with nations that seek to threaten the US?”_

_“Linda, Linda! Hold on, listen. Captain Rogers is a fugitive but I doubt he’d go to Iraq or Afghanistan. Neither country can offer adequate protection and–”_

_“What about China? Or Russia? If he’s with James Barnes then Russia is a high possibility. Or even North Korea!”_

_“Both countries are part of the UN. There’d be no way they wouldn’t hand him over to the US. Listen, the issue isn’t trade secrets. The issue is what he can do. Him and the Avengers were able to bring down an entire city. If he wanted to seek revenge, he could. Ex-SHIELD agent Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, ex-military Samuel Wilson and ex-con Scott Lang are still at large and I’m more worried they’re all together. If they want to seek revenge, what’s to stop them aside from the remaining Avengers? And can we really count on them to take down their previous teammates?”_

“Turn it off,” Sam orders.

Scott picks up the remote and clicks the TV off. “Damn. People are idiots.”

“And we risked our necks for these people,” Sam adds.

Steve just stands there, looking at their reflections in the TV’s dark screen. He’s got his arms crossed and his jaw is clenched tight. The people who once saw him as hope and safety now fear his very existence and what he’s capable of. “If you don’t die a hero, you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

Scott and Sam look at him, both wearing tense expressions.

He says nothing more to them. He turns and makes his way to see Bucky. Bucky is dying, the world is calling for Steve’s head ,and now Steve has to face the fact that children who used to love him and play Captain America in the streets, now fear his very name.

* * *

“I want a hot dog,” Bucky announces.

Steve’s been drawing him for the past fifteen minutes. They haven’t really talked much. Most of it has been comments about the jungle and how Bucky would like to see it. Steve looks up from his art. He’s got the bed almost all the way shaded but he’s barely started on Bucky’s amputated shoulder. He can’t bring himself to.

Bucky looks over at Steve, flashing a smile. “A hot dog piled with sweet relish, mustard and ketchup. Oh and a toasted bun. Oh my God, a fucking toasted bun. No wait! A dog all slathered with chili and melted cheese and _still_ mustard because I’m disgusting.”

Steve smirks. “You’ve always loved mustard.”

“Damn right.”

They share a moment, both smiling at each other, their gazes lingering longer than socially acceptable. Both seem like they want to talk, but neither risks taking the first step. Steve just can’t walk off that ledge right now. He can’t make Bucky feel worse or more stressed than he already does.

“If you could eat anything in the world right now, what would it be?” Bucky asks, canting his head.

Steve looks back down at his drawing, gliding the pencil over the bed to fill in some more shading. “I don’t know.”

“Oh c’mon! Think, Rogers!”

Steve stops the pencil. He looks up at Bucky, remembering a memory that he’s not even sure if it’s real or not. “Remember that little malt shop near the baseball field?”

Bucky nods.

“If I could have anything in the world right now, I’d want to be there with you, sharing a chocolate malt and arguing about who gets the cherry.”

Bucky smiles. Steve isn’t sure if the light is catching Bucky’s eyes just right, or if he’s tearing up. Steve assumes it’s the light.

“I mean, wait– We were just talking food. I’d like to have one of their shakes is all.”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “I’d like that too. I miss it.”

“You do?”

Bucky looks out at the jungle, facing away from Steve. “Yeah. We thought we had a rough life. You being ugly and skinny–”

Steve laughs. It’s the first real laugh he’s done since coming out of the ice.

“And me having to kick your ass all the damn time. Takin’ care of my sisters wasn’t easy but you helped out. My family loved you, and we tried to do what we could.”

“I know.”

“Gettin’ drafted was the worst thing to happen to me.”

Steve feels his throat squeeze. He wants to take that burden away from Bucky. It wasn’t the draft that was the worst, it was Steve. Steve was the worst thing that happened to Bucky. Had it not been for him asking Bucky to go back…

“But I don’t regret it,” Bucky keeps going. He looks back over at Steve, offering a smile that doesn’t meet his tired eyes. “I don’t regret goin’ back in with you. And I know you’re thinkin’ that it’s your fault. I know you, Steve.”

Steve closes his eyes. It’s the first time he’s heard that since he’s been reunited with Bucky. The first time, Bucky claimed he’d read about him in a museum. Steve knew he’d been lying. But it feels so damn good to actually _hear_.

“S’not. Okay? That’s not how the world works.”

“Yeah but–”

“No!” Bucky all but shouts. He takes a deep breath, letting Steve get over the initial shock of hearing such intensity behind such a small word. “I’ve got enough guilt for the both of us, Steve. I know what it feels like and I don’t want you to carry it.”

“Buck…”

Bucky just shrugs, turning back to the jungle. “Hey, you think they’d take me out there soon? I wanna fight a lion.”

* * *

Steve’s sitting across a long black table in a white room as T’Challa speaks to someone in Wakandan on the phone. Scott, Sam, Wanda and Clint are in the room and a few political dignitaries. Steve’s not slept in three days, he’s hungry and just wants to go back to sitting with Bucky, but T’Challa called them all here and Steve’s sure he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important.

T’Challa gets off the phone and leans against the table, letting out a long sigh. “I need a moment with our guests.” He looks to the politicians and they all stand and shuffle out silently. He then drops his head, sighing again.

“That sounded fun, wanna share with the class?” Clint asks.

T’Challa just eyes him, clearly too tired himself to fight back with his own snark.

Steve just sinks further into his seat. He wants at least seven cups of coffee and to somehow find a way to get hot dogs into Wakanda. He’d been quite sad to learn last night that Wakandans don’t exactly have any American food. The closest burger joint is in Kenya. Steve’s been living off curry, chicken, other Wakandan native foods and rice since he got here. He doesn’t mind it. But he wanted to bring Bucky a hot dog to cheer him up. Steve knows Bucky only keeps cracking jokes as a way to avoid the pain. Steve does it too.

“We have a mole in our midst,” T’Challa announces, looking around the room gravely. “Someone tipped off the US government that I smuggled Sam and Wanda in. The UN is silent but the US is asking I deport you. I’ve made an official statement that it’s a lie. As far as I know, I last saw you six months ago in Germany.”

“And me and Bucky?” Steve asks. He should feel some kind of shame for not being more supportive of his best friend and mentee, but Bucky’s always at the front of his mind. It’s coded into his DNA and executed through conditioning. He can’t help but register Bucky first and everyone else second.

“If they know, they’ve not said anything yet. But we need to be vigilant. The Avengers could try to sneak in without my permission.” T’Challa takes a step back, lifting his chin. “Though if that happens, I’ll make it well-known to the American government that it is an act of war, should they do that.”

“But the Avengers are controlled by the UN,” Sam starts, frowning. “How can the Avengers be doing a covert mission for the US if the UN isn’t part of it? Or are they?”

“Maybe that’s why it’s silent,” T’Challa explains. “The Avengers are American based. Their compound is in New York– as you all are more than aware.”

Steve nods, flicking up his brows briefly.

“The US is a permanent member of the UN Security Council. I don’t think it’d be too hard to have the Security Council be persuaded to allow a covert mission like this. Especially given the circumstances with all your abilities,” T’Challa continues, his hands folded behind his back.

“Great,” Scott announces, motioning wide with his hands. “So we’re terrorists who don’t even know if we’re actually safe here. Vision could walk through a wall and murder us all in our sleep.”

“That will not happen,” Wanda says, looking Scott’s way. “I will know if he’s coming.”

Scott looks at Wanda for a long moment, his lips pursed and his brow creased. He nods eventually, licking his lips. “I trust you. I trust all of you. Just– this is some seriously messed up shit.”

“Sorry Tic-Tac,” Sam mutters. “I didn’t know you’d lose Ca–”

“It’s fine,” Scott interjects, offering a shrug Sam’s way. “None of us knew what would happen.”

Steve grits his teeth. In circumstances like this, he’d usually be finding a way to bargain or leverage his life for the sake of his friends. But Bucky’s here now. He can’t leave him alone to die in a foreign country. He can’t leave him alone to die _at all_. Steve takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes. When did he become so foul of a person to destroy the lives of everyone around him?

“I’ll call Sharon. See if maybe she knows anything more about this,” Steve offers, standing.

“No,” T’Challa replies. “If you call her, she may be able to trace you.”

Steve just looks at the man, looking over his shoulders, the way his arms are crossed over his chest. “It’s the least I can do.” It’s said barely above a whisper.

“Steve–” Sam attempts but Steve cuts him off, pacing the room.

“No, Sam. This is my fault. We all know it. We’re dancing around the subject like I’m made of glass. I’m not. I know what happened. I have to make up for it somehow.”

“Yeah, you do,” Clint says. “You can make up for it by keeping you and Bucky safe. That’s what this was all for, right? For Bucky?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“Look,” Clint continues, standing up and moving toward Steve at the middle of the table. “Our lives are fucked up. We’re fugitives. But it’s okay. My kids got to see all kinds of parrots today. They got to step into a jungle and look up and see all the flowers and the animals and listen to all the sounds. I don’t even know if you all know this, but I don’t hear so good. I read lips like a champ and I can hear myself pretty well most days, but I use this to do it.” Clint reaches behind his ear and pulls a tiny little metal circle down in the palm of his hand. He offers it out, showing everyone. “It’s my hearing aid. SHIELD science developed. It can blend into the skin when attached to the dock that’s augmented into my skin. I’m mostly deaf. But I got to hear the jungle with this and I got to hear my kids gasp with wonder and I’ll take it.” He puts the hearing aid back into place and true to form, it vanishes from silver to flesh behind his ear.

Steve looks down, sucking in his lips. He can’t bring himself to let go. Clint’s telling him to, but he can’t. He refuses to look at this situation any differently than he would a military operation that went bad. Officers are held accountable for their actions. Steve had been an officer. He led these people and he had failed them.

“Yeah I’m gonna be that dude, but it’s pretty nice being in a place where your white ass is the minority,” Sam jokes, winking.

“The air is cleaner,” Wanda says. “And the water isn’t so hard on my hair like Sokovia or the Avengers’ compound.” She smiles, offering a little shrug that even gets Steve to smirk a little.

“I got to pet a cheetah,” Scott announces. “That was cool.”

“So you all want me to believe that you’re fine with this? Is that what you’re all saying?” Steve asks, looking around at his friends.  

“We believe in you,” Sam responds. “And we support you.”

Wanda, Clint and Scott all nod. Steve just stares at each one of them. He hadn’t gotten to know Scott that well before everything happened, but he has the kind of soul that is instantly likable. And now, what Scott is doing speaks volumes. Years with Tony, and Steve never felt like they were really getting anywhere. Steve spent a day with Scott and he already feels like Scott’s been part of the team since the beginning. If only Nat was here too.

* * *

“Can I see it yet?” Bucky asks for the sixteenth time in five minutes. Steve’s been counting.

Bucky’s been aware that Steve draws him every time they’re together. Today, Bucky isn’t in a hospital bed. He’s in a regular bedroom that overlooks the mountains and a waterfall. The jungle is loud and comforting around Steve here. Bucky’s in bed, but he’s sitting up on his own. His eyes are red, lips pale but otherwise, it’s like he’s not even dying.

“Not yet,” Steve scolds, smirking. “Your face isn’t even all the way shaded in yet.”

“You tryin’ to impress me, Rogers?”

Steve clenches his jaw and Bucky’s eyes widen in panic.

“It was a joke, Steve.”

“I know, Buck.” Steve looks back to the drawing, sketching out the age lines on Bucky’s face. He’s gotten so much older somehow. Bucky’s unique way of captivity probably took a toll on him. “But I am.”

Bucky’s eyes round, innocent and almost cat-like. He lets a little smirk play at the corner of his mouth before he puffs out his chest. “I think I heard an elephant.”

Steve laughs. He turns the pad around, showing his not-yet-complete drawing to Bucky. “Maybe. Sometimes I think I hear dinosaurs out there.”

Bucky snorts. “Wouldn’t be surprising. I wanna see that movie.” He sits back, reaching for his glass of water. “I like the drawing by the way.”

“What movie?”

“The one with the dinosaurs in a jungle. This guy makes a theme park or something and they get out and eat everyone.”

“Jurassic Park,” Steve answers, feeling a small bit of pride that he even knows that. “I still haven’t seen it either. There’s four movies.”

“Can we watch ‘em?” Bucky asks. The way he asks leaves Steve feeling like someone’s standing on his chest. There’s uncertainty in Bucky’s voice, almost like he’s afraid Steve would actually say no. As if Steve could ever say no.

It’s alarming to Steve, now _Bucky_ this man is. It’s alarming because he knows it’s all a façade. Bucky’s scared. Steve’s scared. Neither one of them is willing to admit it and so they just go on pretending– never telling the other one how they really feel but just talking about nothing as if it means something. If this is how Bucky will die, Steve doesn’t want to regret not telling him how he feels. But it’s hard. It’s so hard to take that leap and Steve’s so afraid of hurting Bucky more.

“We can watch whatever you want, Buck.”

Bucky nods. His lips twitch like he’ll smile but then it goes blank and distant. His face visibly pales about three shades. He grabs his stomach and Steve lunges for Bucky.

Blood drops wetly from Bucky’s mouth as he hacks it up. He’s scrunched over himself, gasping and breathing wetly through the blood in his throat. He takes in a sharp breath and then pukes blood again.

Steve is afraid to touch Bucky. He’s on the bed with him, his hands are hovering out before himself like he’s going to do something, but he’s not. He’s watching Bucky vomit literal blood and he can’t even bring himself to sling an arm over the man’s shoulder. “W-what…what do–”

“Get,” Bucky grits out, gasping. “A doctor.”

Steve runs from the bed, almost colliding with the wall in the hallway. He barrels through the hall, his heart beating up against his sternum. He can feel the currents in his blood, quick and panicked as he searches for a doctor. “Someone help!” he shouts. He’s never seen the doctors anywhere but the halls around the private wing they’d created for Bucky in cryo. He’s not sure if they’re even in the building now. “Bucky’s vomiting blood! Someone fuckin’ help!” Steve’s not used to hearing himself sound like this– hoarse, pitchy and strained. But that won’t stop him from screaming till someone finally comes his way.

Scott pokes his head out of a door, his mouth wide as he stares at Steve. “Shit, seriously?!”

Steve ignores him, but he hears Scott starting to run behind him, shouting for assistance. Steve _really_ appreciates Scott Lang.

They find T’Challa in the sitting room. He’s been on a skype conference but he closes the computer and pulls out his phone to alert one of the doctors. Turns out, he’s kept several on staff in the building on a twenty-four/seven rotation.

Steve is panting, slouched over and listening to his blood rush in his ears. Scott’s collapsed onto the floor, groaning and huffing loudly. Steve’s honestly surprised he kept up for the most part.

The three make their way back to Bucky. Two doctors are already there and Bucky’s heaving into a plastic bag. It smears red and Steve’s heart breaks as he watches helplessly. Bucky is dying… It’s happening before Steve’s eyes and if they don’t act fast, then he’ll really fade away into nothing.

The sheets are splattered and sticky with blood. Bucky’s hands and chin are all bright red. It’s so much blood that he’s so astonished Bucky’s even breathing. A doctor is putting an IV into him to give him more blood. Steve’s lost blood before. Getting a few rounds of O positive hasn’t done any wrong to him since the serum alters the incoming blood, but he still worries. Bucky’s serum isn’t the same as Steve’s, but he can’t imagine Bucky’s never had to pump a few blood bags in with his time at HYDRA. Still, Steve’s fingers feel like he’s gripping ice.

“Hey,” Sam says, coming up behind Steve and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, man.”

Steve doesn’t want to. He wants to watch this scene. He wants to commit it to memory– to burn it to the backs of his eyes. He wants to replay it every second of every day that he’s not doing something for Bucky when he should be _doing_ _something_ for Bucky. He can’t stop helping to find a way to save Bucky. But he needs to fucking _start_ helping instead of just always sitting there. He hates being powerless.

“Steve,” Sam says again. “Look at me.” He turns Steve’s face. Steve sees his glaring eyes, his twitching jaw and how he’s breathing heavily. He sees the sheen of sweat on Sam’s forehead and feels the slight tremble of his fingers under Steve’s chin. Sam shakes his head and starts to pull Steve out of the room.

“N-no,” Steve whispers, grabbing the doorframe. He tries to turn around when he hears Bucky wail but Sam just yanks him.

They move into the hallway and Sam pulls Steve into his chest, wrapping his hand around the back of Steve’s head. Sam’s heart is beating so fast. It’s so fast that Steve’s worried it might break and he can’t lose both his best friends right now. He’ll break. He’ll break if he loses someone else.

“Let it out,” Sam murmurs. “I gotchu.”

And for the first time since waking up in this century, Steve truly cries. He clutches onto Sam’s shoulder blades, pushing his face into Sam’s chest, and feels the tears wet fabric. His whole body is tingling and his fight or flight instincts are begging him to run back into that room and wrap Bucky up and tear open anyone’s gut who tries to get near him. But that’s not what Bucky needs. He needs doctors who actually know what they’re doing. He needs fluids and blood. It was the first day out of that hospital bed and in an actual bedroom and he’s already diminishing so fast. So fast.

“He’s dying,” Steve speaks into Sam’s chest. “H-he’s dying and I– I can’t–”

“I know,” Sam consoles, rubbing Steve’s back. “I know.”

“You don’t even like him,” Steve keeps going, sniffing when the sobs aren’t shaking his body.

“I know you do,” Sam says. “And I don’t hate Barnes. I don’t know ‘im. But I know you. If you think he’s a good guy, then he’s a good guy. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve been there since this whole thing hit the fan.”

Steve straightens himself, wiping the tears from his face and hiccupping in a desperate attempt to stop crying. He doesn’t want Bucky to somehow know. He can’t let Bucky see him cry. He’s got to be strong now. He has to save Bucky and crying doesn’t do a damn thing for that. It just gives Steve a headache and makes himself feel weak.

He battled that feeling already– without the shield; without the mantle of Captain America. He’d stared at walls, tossing a ball at it, and thought what was he without that title. He still doesn’t know. It only makes him feel so weak. He can’t save Bucky like this. He can’t save anyone when he’s too busy crying.

“Thanks,” Steve says, sniffling. “I–”

“I know,” Sam says again. “Trust me. We all know.”

“Huh?”

Sam smirks, looking back in the room. “He stopped.”

Steve looks into the room. Bucky’s laying back on the bed with a cloth across his head. He’s got the blood drip in one arm and both doctors at his side fawning over him. Steve’s okay with that. Those doctors are the most important people to Steve because they’re the only people who can save Bucky.

“T’Challa says the serum is killing him. Some kind of breakdown of it to self-destruct.”

Sam clicks his tongue, putting his hands on his hips. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Damn.”

Steve continues to stare at Bucky. He’s pale and his lips barely have any color to them. The doctors are piling blankets atop him and for all that size he looks so little. Steve wants to be in there. He wants to curl up on that bed and kiss Bucky’s face and tell him he’s going to find a way to save him. Except he’s not. If anyone’s saving him– it’s the doctors. Steve doesn’t know the first thing about modern medicine.

“We’ll find a way to save him.” Sam squeezes both of Steve’s shoulders, staring up at Steve, though Steve’s still staring at Bucky. “T’Challa’s got all his best on this.”

Scott comes out of the room. He’s pale and his face is strained but he meets Steve’s gaze head on. “They got him stable. I helped him stand while they changed the bedsheets and cleaned him up.”

“What happened?” Steve asks.

Scott sighs, shrugging. “Dunno. Didn’t think it was my place to ask. But you should be in there.”

Steve looks at Sam, his lips twitch into what probably looks like more of a grimace but Sam nods anyway. They know apparently. Though Steve’s not sure just _what_ they know. Which…

“What’d you mean? You all know?”

Scott looks between Sam and Steve.

Sam side-eyes Scott, smirking. “Wanna tell ‘im, or should I?”

“About?”

“About that thing we all know, Tic-Tac.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you were exactly hiding it. I mean, if you are– I’m sorry. We just were talking about it and I didn’t reali–”

“Scott? What do you know?” Steve asks.

“God, does he even know?” Scott asks Sam.

“You love Bucky,” Sam finally relinquishes. “We all know. It’s why you did everything the way you did. You love Bucky.”

Steve stands there, looking between the two of them. Scott with his slight fidgeting and Sam with his smug grin. The man who knows him better than most, except for Bucky, and the man who has only heard about Captain America. It’s an interesting dynamic. But he calls both friend.

“He doesn’t know,” Steve whispers, looking at his feet.

“Dude,” Scott begins. “I think he does. And you should talk to him. Given the circumstances.”

Sam smacks Scott roughly, earning a squeak from the man. Steve just quirks a brow, watching. “Go,” Sam orders. “I’ll be up if you need me.”

Steve waves them off, watching Sam playfully bump his shoulder against Scott, talking about the art of subtly or something. Steve just rolls his eyes before going back into the room.

One of the doctors is now on the couch, typing something into a laptop. The other one is taking Bucky’s temperature.

Steve tries to smile when Bucky looks up at him, but the muscles don’t budge and he just looks down at the man with apathy across his features. It’s not that he wants to look like this. He just physically can’t move his muscles into a smile.

“Hey,” Bucky rasps out, his voice hoarse and torn. “Doc said that’s to be expected now. Bouts of expulsion.”

“Expulsion?”

“Got a lot of crap in me. Somethin’ about dead cells. I’m literally rotting from the inside out. Great, huh?”

Steve doesn’t think that’s great. He knows Bucky doesn’t either. “I’m sorry. I panicked when–”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says through that broken voice. “I would’ve too, seeing my best friend puking all his blood out.”

Steve winces. He looks around. The couch is already occupied and the other doctor is now moving to sit in the reading chair to scribble something down.

“You can sit on the bed, Steve. Ain’t like you haven’t before.”

Steve shuffles over, stiffly sitting down on the extreme corner. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. If he had it his way, he’d be diving into the bed and scooping Bucky up into his arms. He’d be kissing the IV feed into Bucky’s arm and moving all the way up to Bucky’s face. His friends know. Scott thinks Bucky knows… Steve wants to ask so badly. He wants to talk about it _so badly_ that he’s about to throw up.

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks instead.

Bucky looks like he considers it for a moment before shaking his head. “What’s the best memory you have of us?”

Steve’s mouth drops open silently, his eyes rounding as he’s bombarded with countless memories. The best? Every time he was with Bucky– that was always the best. “Why?”

“Wanted to see if it was mine too,” Bucky whispers. He looks over at his metal shoulder, pursing his lips. “Maybe I just wanted to see if it was real.”

“What is it?”

Bucky shakes his head, sighing. “Maybe– maybe later. I should be more worried about my future, right?”

“Bucky–”

“It’s okay. I’m tired anyway.”

Steve stands up, preparing himself to say his goodbyes since he can’t seem to find a way to say anything else.

“Where’re you going?” Bucky asks, his voice still hoarse but it’s child-like in a way. There’s a desperation behind it that Steve doesn’t recall hearing when they were young.

“You said you were tired. Didn’t wanna keep you up.”

“Steve, seriously? Take your shirt off and get into bed. S’not like we haven’t slept in a bed together before. I don’t wanna be alone.”

Steve’s face flushes hot. He looks at the doctors, paying no mind to what he and Bucky are talking about. He’s– embarrassed. It’s one thing to climb into bed when there isn’t an audience but then again, Sam said they all know. Maybe even these doctors know. Would it be so bad? Everyone knowing? Scott hadn’t been wrong when he said Steve should probably tell Bucky, given the circumstances. And even then, Steve’s slept in the beds of men many times. It didn’t mean anything and it probably doesn’t mean anything to Bucky now. Bucky just doesn’t want to be alone and Steve wants to do anything he can to help Bucky.

He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. Bucky shoves the blankets down and Steve gets into bed beside him. The bed’s warm and the blankets make Steve almost a little uncomfortably hot. His hand brushes Bucky’s and it’s like Bucky hasn’t been out of cryo for more than an hour. “You’re freezing.”

“Blood loss’ll do that.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his, rubbing at it and massing into the muscle to help the blood flow easier. Bucky just watches, his lips slightly parted and his gaze set on Steve’s fingers. Steve recoils, feeling his ears go red.

“N-no, it– that was good,” Bucky says.

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold. I’m not opposed to you being one of my blankets.”

Steve laughs. He laughs because he doesn’t expect those words. He laughs because never in his life has Bucky been so forward and yet so logical at the same time. Bucky is cold. This has nothing to do with Steve’s feelings or even Bucky’s. Bucky is cold and Steve is warm.

“C’mere,” Steve whispers, letting Bucky shimmy into his arms.

Bucky tucks himself under Steve’s chin. He smells like soap, most likely from the doctors having cleaned him. Steve can’t help but press his face into Bucky’s hair.

“So warm,” Bucky mumbles. “M’sorry– makin’ you do this.”

Steve looks down, his face strained as he digests those words. Bucky thinks? He thinks this is a chore for Steve? Steve would do anything for Bucky. He’s turned away from the shield, turned away from the people of this world. He’s gone into hiding for the past six months to keep an eye on Bucky and Bucky thinks that this is somehow not what Steve wanted?

“You’re worth it, Buck.”

“Nnnn.” He’s falling asleep and it’s the best feeling Steve’s ever felt. Bucky’s weight is substantial and he’s pressed up so close with a leg between Steve’s. He’s clutching to Steve’s hip, his icy fingers slowly relaxing as he falls further and further under. Steve would lie like this every night if Bucky needed it. Never would this ever be a chore.

Steve watches the doctors close up their respective laptops and notes. They look at Steve and smile large before bowing their heads and silently heading out. The last one turns off the light and the silver beams from the moon spill slowly into the room.

Steve listens to the jungle– so alive and loud. He feels Bucky’s steady breathing against his chest. He thinks he hears an elephant. Everything is so loud and yet Steve’s never felt so at peace.


	2. I want to love you but I don't know how

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve battles with the harsh reality that he may not get a tomorrow with Bucky. It's now or never to tell Bucky how he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! Thank you for all the support! This was a quick update and unfortunately that's not always the case. I've had a week off between school and work. I still think I'm pretty fast in the grand scheme of things though...
> 
> This fic is only edited by me (I gave my poor beta a break) and thus mistakes are all my own! But there shouldn't be any... I think I caught them all.  
> 

Steve’s sitting in the kitchen again. A cup of coffee pressed to his lips, but he’s not drinking it. He’s staring out at the vast expanse of sky and clouds. This place reminds him of when he was with SHIELD– all those helicarriers. Except, the sky didn’t whoop or chirp as loud as the jungle does. Steve feels the steam under his nose, it’s thick and makes it hard to breathe but he just keeps staring out at the sky. Bucky’s been quarantined. It wasn’t for anyone else’s sake– just his own. Steve’s allowed in of course but Bucky’s not really allowed _out_.

If Bucky’s to die, Steve doesn’t want it like this. And that’s a thought that punches him so hard in the gut that he can feel the bile lingering at the back of his throat. He’s accepting this. He didn’t accept it back during the war but now here he is, thinking of Bucky functioning on “borrowed” time. The doctors are doing everything to keep him stable, but they’re only drawing out the inevitable unless they can reverse the breakdown of the serum, or remove it. But what would that do to Bucky? Steve’s been left wondering about that for his own sake too. Would he shrink back into the little guy he used to be? Would he age? Would he die? Is removing the serum going to save Bucky or will it just kill him faster?

T’Challa and Sam walk into the room. They look to have just shared a joke, each with lingering smiles on their faces. Steve hasn’t been one for smiling lately. He saves those for Bucky. It’s too exhausting to smile at everyone else _and_ Bucky. Who knew a man with a super-serum for endurance would feel so exhausted all the time?

“Waddup, man?” Sam asks, leaning on the counter.

Steve just looks at the coffee and finally pulls it from his lips. He puts it down, staring at it.

“Dude, it ain’t gonna bite.”

“I know,” Steve says. His voice is scratchy. It’s worn so thin from having to pretend like nothing’s wrong when the very fabric of reality is tearing apart in front of Steve’s eyes. “I’m thinking.”

T’Challa pours himself and Sam cups of coffee. He walks over to Sam and hands him a mug. “Two creams.”

Sam just smiles, accepting the coffee. He takes in the scent before sipping. “That’s good.”

T’Challa just smiles at him. Steve knows that kind of smile. It’s warm and happy– like nothing could ever go wrong. How can T’Challa smile so easily? How can Sam? Granted, Sam didn’t exactly hit it off with Bucky– but Sam respects him. He understands why Steve is the way he is about him. It’s still not fair. It’s not fair that these people get to smile so easily when all Steve wants to do is scream. Bucky is _dying_ and these two are _smiling_.

“I want to take him outside,” Steve says. He looks up at T’Challa, his brows pulling together in the way a man who has nothing left to lose looks. “He’s dying and he’s never seen a jungle like this.”

T’Challa goes serious. He sets his coffee down, sucking in his lips. “It’s– his medications need to be monitored closely. If something went wrong–”

“He’s dying,” Steve urges. He doesn’t even realize he’s lifting off the barstool. His shoulders are trembling and it feels like he’s had more than several cups of coffee. “Don’t do this to him. I know you’re protecting him but please. If this is all we–” He can’t keep going. The words tumble back down his throat, too afraid to even allow themselves to be heard. Steve falls back onto the barstool. He drops his head into his palms. He doesn’t cry– he won’t in front of them. He’s never liked crying in front of anyone other than Bucky or his ma. A strangled sound comes out of him, one laced with all the woes and agonies of a man who should have died long ago– but didn’t.

Sam just clears his throat. Steve looks at him from between his fingers, watching the way Sam tilts his head toward Steve, a silent urging.

“The doctors will want him on a heart monitor. He should also wear a vitals wristband so we can monitor his medication in him. He can’t go too far.”

Steve nods, his face relaxing as he goes back to staring out the window. At least Bucky’ll be able to see an African jungle before he–

No.

Steve’s not giving up hope yet.

* * *

“Steve, for the last fuckin’ time, I’m fine! I ain’t some green-around-the-gills child or somethin’.” Bucky moves in front of Steve, twisting and turning his body to make his way through the thick jungle. If Steve thought it was loud inside, it’s a damn orchestra right up close. They’ve been just walking through the jungle. Apart from Steve’s constant mother-henning, they’ve really not spoken much. There’s really never been a need to talk it all out, all the events that led them here. They’ve never been too talkative about the bad. Even during the war, Bucky always found other things to talk about that got Steve smiling– women, cigarettes, jokes, Morita’s shitty canned beans and how he always managed to burn them. It had been a hell they lived through and yet Steve would give anything to see those days again.

Bucky’s wrist-monitor beeps and Steve lunges to snatch at it. Bucky yelps, Steve’s sure it’s more out of surprise than anything else. Steve’s nose is right against the monitor, looking at the levels all moving steadily up or down. “I said m’fine, Steve.”

“You need some medicine,” Steve replies. “Hold on.” He goes into the bag T’Challa prepared for them and pulls out one of the medicine bottles. “Take two.”

“Sure, nurse,” Bucky grumbles, taking the pills.

Steve stares at him, his mouth open– bound to catch flies in this jungle, but he can’t bring himself to close it. Bucky’s progressively got more agitated the further they’ve gotten into the jungle. Steve’s not sure if it’s because the heat’s getting to Bucky or if there’s something else. Sam mentioned people get angry when faced with untimely death. Clint had jokingly agreed– something about some guy screaming all kinds of cuss words at Clint till his arrow lodged in the guy’s throat. Steve had honestly stopped listening. He hadn’t wanted to talk about death.

Bucky takes a deep sigh, licking his lips slowly. He looks up at the green vines and leaves around them. “There’s a snake.”

Steve doesn’t look. He wants to remember the way Bucky’s eyes look right now, all lit up with the deep greenery in those gray eyes. He wants to go back and paint those eyes– immortalize their wonder.

“Steve,” Bucky huffs. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop… you know.” Bucky turns around, taking a few paces onward.

Steve just stands there, watching his best friend retreated further and further inside himself. This isn’t supposed to be some kind of excursion where they end up angry at each other. Steve’s really not sure what it’s supposed to be anymore. Bonding? An event to cross off the bucket list? He’s not really sure. He’s not even sure if bringing Bucky out here was more for himself or actually for Bucky.

“We can go back,” Steve says, tiling his head to the side. “Whatever you want.”

“I _want_ to be out here, Steve.” Bucky picks a leaf off one of the trees, running his thumb along the veins. “It’s just– you just– shit.”

Steve watches Bucky; the way the man’s shoulders begin to sag– one metal and one flesh; watches how the color in Bucky’s cheeks drain out like God’s tilting the universe to the side.

“I’m not made of glass.”

Steve takes a step forward. “I know that.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You treat me like I’m gonna explode. I know you don’t like hearin’ it, but I’ve had worse. Seventy years, Steve. Seventy years I was passed around from one bad guy to the next.”

“Buck–”

“Don’t.” Bucky cuts him off with a voice like iron. “I know what I did, I know who I am, and worst of all?” He looks up, swallowing roughly. “I know what the world’s gonna remember me for.”

The words cut into Steve like ice sharpened to an edge. Bucky’s already paces ahead, but Steve can’t will himself to move. Bucky Barnes had been a war hero. It was in the text books used up until 2014. Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes; they had been war heroes and everyone knew it. After word spread of who Bucky became– well, history’s always been easy to rewrite. The winners always get their say– and in the ashes of a fallen SHIELD, Steve had killed the hero Bucky Barnes used to be and let the world know the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter that Steve wasn’t the one to drop the files online or not. He should’ve known better than to let Nat do it.

He should’ve known how to protect his friend better.

* * *

“You know,” Sam begins, his voice in that tone he drops into whenever he’s about to lay down the law with Steve. “If I had a dollar for every time you looked like you couldn’t decide if you needed to shit or burp, I’d be damn rich.”

Steve brings himself to smirk.

“Our delightful patient kick you out?” Sam sits on one of the recliners in the room.

“He’s asleep,” Steve answers. “The walk wore him out.”

“Did you two enjoy it? Gaze into each other’s eyes and finally have that heart-to-heart you’ve been dying for?”

Steve just rolls his eyes. “Do we really look the type to have heart-to-hearts?”

“Nope,” Sam replies, grabbing the apple Steve thought he’d eat but left it abandoned on the coffee table. “Ya know, he’s still never apologized.”

Steve just furrows his brow.

“He totaled my car, remember? Took the wheel off? Tried to kill me? Yanked a wing off? Ringin’ any bells?”

“That wasn’t–”

“I know, I know.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “That wasn’t him. He remembers it though, right?”

Steve can’t bring himself to say anything back. They both know the answer.

“Could have. It’d been nice.” Sam puts the apple in Steve’s hands, staring at him with those dark eyes that just _get_ Steve. Steve had been lost till he met Sam Wilson. He couldn’t imagine his life now without him. He couldn’t imagine his life without _both_ Sam and Bucky. “You need to eat. I’m not your babysitter. I’m your friend. So I’m only gonna say it once. Eat this fuckin’ apple, okay?”

Steve opens his mouth, the corners curving up into a smile as he stares at Sam. “Awe, you do care.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Sam mumbles. “Eat the damn apple. And when Barnes wakes up? Go make him eat a damn apple.”

Steve’s about to nod when Wanda runs into the common room. Her face is flushed red and she’s breathing heavy. Steve’s gaze hardens, every bone in his body is ready to shatter as fear clutches at his heart. If this is about Bucky…

“Remember T’Challa’s mole? It got worse,” she says.

Steve just creases his brow, watching the way Sam stiffens in front of him.

“C’mon, man.” Sam pulls Steve up and the three make their way down the long hall together.

T’Challa’s already in the conference room. He’s pacing along the window that spans the entire side of the room like the panther his mantle is named after. He looks like he’s ready to rip heads from shoulders.

Steve’s too anxious to sit. Everyone’s here, including a few Wakandan women with muscles that would give Natasha pause. He looks back up to T’Challa, looking at that snarl. “What’s goin’ on?”

“My mole bit me,” T’Challa replies. He slides a file on the table over to Steve.

Steve takes the manila folder and opens it up. Inside, he sees pictures of himself looking out the windows. Someone’s been watching him… He looks back up, his lips parting. Thousands of questions race around in his mind like the souls in the River Styx but none dare venture to his tongue. He takes a deep breath, finally sitting down.

“The United States Government knows I’m sheltering you. They’ve asked I attend a video meeting to negotiate your return to them.”

“So they can execute him?” Clint asks. “Steve’s not gonna get a fair trial. None of us are. They deprived us already when they shoved us in that floating tin can.”

“Not to mention they decided we were too dangerous to have lawyers or court dates,” Sam tacks on.

“Do they still believe you?” Wanda asks. “About me and Sam?”

T’Challa shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

“Do they know about Bucky?” Steve asks. His heart is up in his ears, like it’s the instrument that’s beating against his eardrums.

“If they don’t yet, they will soon,” T’Challa admits, his shoulders slumping. “I’m afraid this is about to get messy.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Steve cocks his head to the side.

“I’m going to say the US violated the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and you are all refugees.”

Steve just takes in a deep breath through his nose.

“That’s… What’s that?” Scott asks.

“Really Tic-Tac?” Sam scoffs, a smile flirting with his lips. “Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.”

“What?” Scott just leans forward, staring at Sam like he’s grown a third head.

“Dude…”

“The Declaration of Human Rights was created by the UN about two– three years after I went into the ice?” Steve clicks his tongue. “It was meant to be a universal document to protect fundamental human rights.”

“Unfortunately, the world tends to forget about the Declaration when it isn’t convenient.” T’Challa looks around the room, his chin raised in the way that makes him look more than a man. “You are all refugees, and since I believe you all to be in great danger in your countries, I’m not giving you back.”  

“Again, there’s a Vision out there with a blasty-thingy and he could do that while we’re asleep.” Scott just shrugs. “I think about this a lot.”

“I told you before,” Wanda chides. “I can handle him.”

“I’ve also got the Dora Milaje– my bodyguards, vigilant for anything suspicious. I don’t think you have anything to worry about for now,” T’Challa says. “But I want you all informed.” He leans back, sighing. “I’d like to speak to Steve alone now.”

Steve watches the room clear out. The women who’d been standing in the back corner all bow their heads briefly toward T’Challa before walking away among the rest of Steve’s friends. It’s weird, not calling them _his team_ anymore. They’re not a team. They’re not the Avengers. They’re a group of people on the run from the US government. Steve never thought he’d see the day when the country he was named after turned its back on him– but here he is.

“Bucky’s doing well,” T’Challa says, bringing Steve from his thoughts.

“Yeah.”

T’Challa watches Steve for a moment, his dark eyes peering into the shadows of Steve’s heart. Steve shifts uncomfortably under that weighted gaze. He’s never liked being looked at like this– big or small.

“My physicians are still working on a cure. They’ve started investigating to see if the serum is repairable or if it needs to be extracted.”

“…Yeah.”

“When I was a boy,” T’Challa begins. “My father used to play me your speeches. He said leaders always have to make memorable speeches. I’ve memorized three speeches that were not made on Wakandan soil. Yours was one of them.”

Steve just tilts his head to the side, a grimace against his tired face. “What made Captain America so special to a boy in Wakanda?”

T’Challa smirks, leaning over the table. “He used a vibranium shield.”

Steve just flicks his eyebrows up briefly, nodding.

“For a man who’s always known exactly what to say when it was needed, you seem to be struggling now.”

Steve cocks a brow, looking up at T’Challa.

“There’s a man lying in a bed who thinks his time is running out. There’s a man before me who thinks his time’s already passed. Neither of them will say anything– because they don’t think there’s enough _time_.” T’Challa takes a step back, shrugging. “There’s always enough time.” He turns from the room, leaving Steve alone to look out the windows along the back of the room.

Everyone seems to know with such acute clarity that Steve loves Bucky. Why’s it so hard for Bucky to see? A cold hand palms at Steve’s heart, cradling it menacingly. It squeezes as the thoughts sink in like a dying leaf pressed against snow.

Maybe he does, but he doesn’t feel the same.

* * *

“Why’re you always drawin’ me?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks up as a crackle of thunder echoes around them. Rain hits the windows loudly, like scurrying soldiers in a mud-soaked battlefield. He isn’t sure how to respond. The answer is so forward in his mind, but the words tremble down in his throat. He wants to remember every detail of Bucky’s face– the lines, the soft dip of his chin and how far his eyes are apart. He wants to memorize each expression Bucky’s ever worn just in case he ever finds himself needing the comfort of a smile, or the intensity of Bucky’s gaze. He opens his mouth when another thunderous boom pierces the sky.

Bucky just looks down at the IV in his arm. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

The words shove needles into Steve’s heart. His throat clamps shut and all he manages to get out is a wet, weak little sound. Steve’s not even sure what to categorize it as. A moan, a whimper, the sound of a man whose body is healthy and yet he’s dying? Dying because _where_ he keeps his heart– that body across from him– is dying. Steve can’t imagine going on after losing Bucky again. But he can’t imagine taking his own life either. He’ll just be a shell of a person. He’s so vastly not ready to face that kind of pain.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” Bucky continues. “I like your art. Always have. Just– do you really want this?”

“Want what?” Steve asks.

“Pictures of me hooked up to machines and IV tubes? Gettin’ thinner and thinner, paler and paler. You’re not even gonna have to shade ‘em in soon, I’ll be so pale.”

“You think you look weak?” Steve asks. It’s easier than telling Bucky the maddening truth of how much Steve loves him.

Bucky just shrugs his flesh shoulder. “Don’t I?”

Steve feels his head shaking before he can even find the words to say. “You look like a man who’s strong enough to fight for his life. This isn’t weakness, Buck.”

Bucky just shrugs again, looking out the window. “Remember that time when we got caught out in that really bad storm? We stood under the grocery awning but it got so full of water that it dumped all over us?”

Steve smiles– it’s full of tears and more pain than it’s worth– but he smiles. “I got a cold and you spent the entire time learning how to make homemade chicken noodle soup with my ma.”

“Made you that every time you got sick after.” Bucky’s brows pinch together. He wears a sheepish grin on his face, one that seems so scared and yet so hopeful. Steve only wishes he could hear Bucky’s thoughts. It’d make everything so much easier if he just _knew_ how Bucky felt.

“Did you ever think I was weak? When I got sick?” Steve inches a little closer to the edge of his seat.

Bucky shakes his head. “You’ve always been the strongest guy I’ve ever known.”

Steve just gestures to the art in his lap. “That’s how I see you too.”

Thunder claps above them, followed by a streak of lighting that flashes white in the room. Despite the ferocity of the storm, they don’t seem to notice. Bucky stares at Steve. Steve stares at Bucky.

In Steve’s mind, he thinks about T’Challah’s words. About how there’s always enough time. He wants to say it. He wants to tell Bucky how he’s felt ever since he was sixteen. He wants to confess that he just _can’t_ live if Bucky’s not there to live it with him. It wouldn’t be living anymore. It’d be existing and Steve’s not strong enough for that. He looks down at the art, running his fingers over the blankets around Bucky’s feet.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna get you better.” Steve hates himself. He hates himself more than he’s ever hated anyone. More than Hitler, the Red Skull, _Zola_. His chance was here, in the comfort of the thunderstorm and the soft sounds of the jungle animals below. It was right there and he just blows it because of fear.

Bucky just looks at his left side, rolling his metal shoulder a little. “I believe you.”

Steve closes his eyes. He can feel his heart speed up as agony and anger berate him like tidal waves against already battered and ruined sands.

“Steve?”

He opens his eyes, desperation clinging to his very bones as he leans forward in the reading chair.

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight. Would you– ya know– stay?”

Steve just blinks, his heart stuttering awkwardly in his chest.

“I mean, if you want.” Bucky swallows. “You don’t–”

“Sure, Buck. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

“All night. You don’t gotta stay up. I just need you in the bed with me.”

Steve licks his bottom lip as heat pools in his lower stomach. It’s not fair to Bucky. It’s not fair that Steve _feels_ these intense reactions and holds back his secrets when Bucky’s being so honest with him. It’s clear Bucky just needs someone there. He doesn’t need a lover. He just wants his friend.

* * *

When Steve wakes up, he hears Bucky’s all-too-familiar retching off in the bathroom. Panic clutches at Steve’s heart, squeezing it so tightly he can’t breathe. He swings out of bed, barely noticing the rain that’s pitter-pattering against the windows, moving to the bathroom to knock on the door. “Buck?”

“S’open,” comes the gurgled reply.

Steve opens the door to find Bucky sprawled out on the bathroom tile. He’s pale with bright red-rims around his eyes and he’s got a small dribble of blood off the side of his mouth. Despite how miserable he looks; he still smiles at Steve. That little gesture seizes Steve’s whole body and floods him with warmth. He can’t help but smile back.

“Do you need me to get a doctor?”

Bucky waves a dismissive hand, “Nah. Just spewing dead cells or whatever.”

Steve hates how easy Bucky jokes about this. He leans against the door, crossing his arms. All that warmth he’d just felt leaves his body and he’s left feeling empty.

“Help me up?”

Steve nods, moving to lean over and help pull Bucky up. He swings Bucky’s arm around his shoulder and slowly makes their way back over to the bed.

“S’always worse in the mornin’,” Bucky says. “S’like it all just builds up overnight.”

Steve gets Bucky back into bed before he sits on the edge. He wants to reach out and rest his hand against Bucky’s thigh, but he’s not sure if that’s even okay– even just as friends. There’s a fine line between being supportive because he cares and wanting to touch because he loves. He hates the idea of lying to Bucky, or hiding in plain sight. Even if Bucky doesn’t have the same feelings, Steve can’t imagine Bucky ever turning Steve away. Steve just needs to be honest.

What holds him back is the stress of that moment– the moment where Bucky could look at him with large, sorrowful eyes and quietly shatter Steve’s heart into thousands of broken pieces full of memories and hope. It would all become bittersweet and “the good old days.” Steve doesn’t want that. He’d rather live a life of silent suffering than ruin what he has. It’s selfish. But when it comes to Bucky, Steve’s always been selfish.

Bucky starts to laugh. It’s wet at first, raspy and tight like the air in his lungs doesn’t want to leave, but then it relaxes into a heartfelt sound. Steve’s lips twitch. He wants to smile but all he does is show concern with that heavy brow and his blue gaze glued to Bucky’s face. Bucky just keeps laughing. His shoulders shake, he grabs his stomach with his hand.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks as he adjusts Bucky’s pillow.

Bucky swallows back more laughter, shrugging. “If all I had to do was to get sick…” He stops himself, his jaw clenching. “Shit. I’m gonna puke again.”

Steve leans over the bed to grab the waste can. Bucky curls around it and dry heaves. Steve watches, listening to the rain outside, the way the leaves rustle together like chittering groups of onlookers. He doesn’t want the world to see Bucky like this. He doesn’t want the world to see Bucky at all. The US is on T’Challa’s ass; the UN probably will follow. Everything’s going to become a mess and Steve’s not ready for that information to trickle to Bucky’s ears. He has enough to deal with as it is.

Bucky leans back, gasping for air. “Fuck this.”

“D’you want water?” Steve asks. He grabs a bottle from the nightstand and offers it out.

Bucky just shakes his head, pushing it aside. “I’ll just puke it back up.”

“You need something, Buck.”

Bucky just shrugs, wiping at his mouth. “Toothpaste. I wanna brush my teeth.”

Steve closes his eyes, trying to knock the thousands of voices in his head away. He wants to talk about what’s happening in the outside world. He wants to talk about his feelings. He wants to just _talk_ or force Bucky to eat and drink. He wants so much yet he can’t figure out which one to actually act on. So he doesn’t do any. He sits there in silence, slowly letting his eyes open. Bucky’s watching him with a pained expression, his gray eyes the color of the cloudy sky outside.

“I’ll get you a toothbrush.” Steve stands up, feeling tears sting his eyes. Steve used to hide behind Captain America’s title and duty. He didn’t have time for romance because he was a superhero. Now all that’s left is Steve Rogers and his heart is bleeding for a man who may not have more than a few weeks. All he wants is to pull Bucky into him and promise him the universe. It’ll eat him alive…

And Steve will let it.

* * *

Watching Bucky day after day get his blood drawn makes Steve feel sick. He’s seen his fair share of blood. He’s seen disembodied _parts_ lying across battlefields. He’s seen his own blood. But watching Bucky turn so unbelievably pale isn’t something he can stomach.

“That’s enough,” he says aloud, much to his surprise. He looks to Bucky, his eyes round. Bucky just looks away, biting his lip.

“We have to run tests on how to reverse the serum,” the doctor says. Her accent is thick but her tone gentle. “We have to see how it reacts before we attempt it on him.”

Steve clenches his jaw, looking over at Bucky. “You gonna leave anything left _in_ him?”

“That’s enough for today,” T’Challa says, entering the room. “Captain Rogers is correct. Barnes’ body needs time to replenish. Thank you.”

“I’m not a captain,” Steve corrects, turning to T’Challa as the physicians leave.

“Actually.” T’Challa holds out an orange to Bucky. He turns back to Steve with a soft smile. “You’ve never been discharged from the army. You’re still a captain.”

Steve sags against the wall, playing with his fingernails. “Haven’t been part of the army in a long time.”

“I’m still a sergeant,” Bucky offers. He’s struggling to get the peel off the orange with only one hand. Steve wants to help, but he’s not sure that’s acceptable. Does Bucky have to learn how to exist without an arm or is Steve allowed to help?

T’Challa offers his hand out to Bucky. Bucky plops the orange into his hand and both Bucky and Steve watch T’Challa slice through the orange before handing it back. It’s not all the way peeled, but Bucky can get his fingernails into it easier now. A delicate compromise to help Bucky learn and also a gesture of help. Steve only wishes he thought of that.

“And you’re still my captain, Steve.” Bucky offers a shy smile that’s gone too soon. Steve’s mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. They just hold each other’s gazes, a silent conversation all their own. They’d follow each other anywhere.

“I was thinking I could take you two to one of the waterfalls today,” T’Challa says, a smirk on his lips. He knows exactly what’s unfolding in front of him, but his navigation back into the conversation is so gentle that neither Steve nor Bucky are perturbed by it. “Might be nice for Barnes to see it.”

“Call me Bucky? I like Bucky better.”

T’Challa nods. “Would you like that, Bucky?”

Bucky looks over to Steve, shrugging his flesh shoulder. “I’d like to.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve agrees, shoving his hands into his pockets. “When?”

T’Challa makes his way for the door. “Now.”

* * *

The jungle is muggy from the past few days of rain. Bucky’s gasping as he struggles to breathe through it. He’s used Steve for support most of the way to the waterfall. Sweat shines off him, making him almost ethereal in the daylight glow. The red around his eyes has deepened to purple and blue. It brings out the color of his eyes better but it also makes him look like a corpse. He’s got bruising around his knuckles and wrists. He’s breaking from the inside-out, but he’s still here– still at Steve’s side and fighting for every breath he takes.

Steve can’t help but be in awe of Bucky’s strength. After they’d parted from the Potomac, Bucky tried to build a life for himself. He’d fled to Romania and in that apartment were candy bars and clean dishes. There was a bed and boxes of food. Bucky had been trying to _live_. Not just survive. It pains Steve that the world will never let go of what Bucky did was a prisoner of the Soviets or Hydra. He’ll always be a wanted man till the day he dies– whether that be now or later.

“Here we are,” T’Challa announces, moving a thick palm leaf away to show a crystal blue waterfall with a refreshing pool beneath it. The water sparkles like a bed of gems as the sun caresses it. It looks refreshing and Steve’s sweaty body is appreciative of that.

Steve smiles, feeling Bucky’s body relax against his. “You wanna swim?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky breathes out. He tugs his shirt off and starts undoing the drawstring of his pants when Steve brings his hand down over Bucky’s. Bucky cocks a brow, looking up at Steve.

“Skinny dipping?” Steve asks.

“We’re all men. S’not like we haven’t seen each other naked before.”

“Yeah but…” Steve looks over at T’Challa. The man just shrugs, walking further toward the waterfall.

“Stop being such a pansy, Rogers,” Bucky teases. He undoes his drawstring and shimmies out of his pants and underwear. “Get naked.”

Steve can feel his face going beat red. Bucky moves over to the water and Steve just stands there like an idiot. He averts his eyes probably more than what’s necessary, but again, there’s the whole lying to Bucky issue. If Steve looks, he knows he’ll look for the wrong reasons. Bucky had looked so healthy when Steve first found him. He was wide, thick, and there was color in his cheeks. He’s atrophied a little over the six months here, but not too much. Cryo mostly preserved his muscle. His skin is so pale though. It’s like the moon slipped beneath his skin.

“C’mon, Steve!” Bucky shouts from the water. He’s wading out into the middle of the pool. His eyes are so blue right now with the water reflecting against them. It reminds Steve of the days they used to hang out in the YMCA pool together.

T’Challa has disappeared. Steve looks around, wondering if this was a clever set up or if the man just went for a little walk to give Steve and Bucky some privacy.

“Steve, not to be an ass or anything, but I could literally drop dead at any second. Get in with me.”

The words slice into Steve’s bones. He tries to get his breathing under control as he peels his clothing off and wades out into the water. It’s warm in a few spots, cool in some others, but it’s all around lovely after sweating all the way here. He’s too tall to have to wade the water but if he folds his knees, he can at least give himself the illusion. He’s pretty sure Bucky’s doing that too because his head’s the only thing that floats above the water.

“Nice?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah.”

Bucky goes under quickly, then comes back up to shake his hair out.

Steve laughs, trying to shield his face from the onslaught of water droplets. In this moment, Steve forgets about Bucky’s illness. He forgets about T’Challa or that they’re in Africa. He and Buck are back in Brooklyn, swimming on a hot summer’s day. Steve’s wondering what his ma’s going to cook for a dinner and if Bucky’ll stay the night. Bucky always stayed the night when Steve asked. He moves over to Bucky, playfully dunking the man.

Bucky shrieks in delight before letting himself go under. He yanks Steve’s ankle and Steve finds himself beneath the water. The sound of the waterfall is steady, but it sounds more like kids jumping into the deep-end than it does an African waterfall right now. And that’s all Steve wants it to be– home.

He comes back up, Bucky’s face so close to his. They stop playing, both staring. Steve wants to lean in. He wants to explain how he’s been so in love with Bucky for so long. “Where’d T’Challa go?” If his brain could beat himself up, it would.

Bucky looks around before shrugging. “Dunno.”

“Do you feel okay?”

Bucky nods. “Lot better than yesterday. They got me on some meds for the vomiting.”

Steve smiles, but it’s tight around the lips and his eyes don’t reflect the gesture. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky leans back in the water, looking up at the clear sky. “S’bright.”

“Yeah.”

“Reminds me of the type we went to New Jersey with my family.” He sighs heavily. “Y’know, I never looked them up.”

Steve just shrinks so his mouth is covered by water. It’s a cowardly excuse not to speak.

“Dunno if they’re alive or dead. I was–” Bucky pauses, leaning forward again. “I didn’t think they’d wanna see me again. Ya know, with knowing all that I did.”

“Buck, how many times do I have to tell you, it wasn’t you.”

“Yes it was, Steve!” Bucky snaps back. “You don’t get it and you never will. I remember all of it. Have you ever had a moment in your life where you felt you had no control but you still _knew_ what you were doing? Thought you could stop it if you tried hard enough but you just didn’t?”

Steve sinks to his knees so his nose gets covered with water. He doesn’t want to answer. Memories of the plane and the ice come rushing back to him. He could’ve done something different. He knew he could, but he just didn’t care enough to.

“It was my choice to not fight it. I always knew. Deep down. No matter the memory wipes or the brainwashing or the stupid code words. I always knew, Steve. I just didn’t want to fight it.” He looks down at the water, trailing his hand above it, watching water droplets drip from his palm.

“I don’t blame you,” Steve whispers. The water carries his voice with ease.

Bucky just freezes, closing his eyes.

“I blame me…” he says. He’s told Bucky this over and over when Bucky was in cryo– but those confessions didn’t count. The words taste like stale milk in Steve’s mouth. He wants to shut up, but he can’t. The dam is bursting and if he tries to hold back more, he’ll just destroy himself. “I didn’t come back.”

“Steve–”

“No, Bucky!” Steve raises his voice. He stands up, letting the water cascade along the curves of his body. “I watched you die, and I accepted it. I never came back for you.”

“You had other things to deal with,” Bucky offers weakly.

“Nothing’s more important to me than you.” Steve steps closer, reaching for Bucky’s hand. “And I left you behind.”

Bucky just closes his eyes. He sucks his lips in, a shaky breath exhaling from his nose.

“You’re worth more than you know.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand, loving how warm he feels. He’s been so cold as of late. The sun’s doing so good for him now.

Bucky drops his head against Steve’s shoulder, a mangled sob echoing off the water.

Steve just wraps his arms around Bucky, feeling the man shudder. He keeps his hips intentionally slanted back so they don’t touch like that. But everything else just feels _so good_ to touch. He glides his fingers up and down Bucky’s back, feeling the man’s lungs expand and relax.

“I’m not dumb you know,” Bucky mutters into Steve’s neck. “You’ve always been the shittiest liar.”

Steve freezes but he’s too selfish to pull away. “What do you mean?”

Bucky pulls back, smiling sadly. “Nothin’, Rogers. I don’t mean nothin’.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him,” Sam groans.

They’re sitting on a balcony, listening to the hoots and hollers of the jungle. They’re curled up in wicker furniture that’s too big for them and adorned with soft pillows. The sun’s dipping along the horizon and Steve wishes this was just some kind of nice vacation. The land’s so beautiful here.

“I’m just–” Steve grips his water glass, looking at the way it curves slightly to one side. “I’m scared.”

“Dude.” Sam blinks a few times, his gaze steady but his face clearly fed up. “Do you think he’d hate you?”

“No.”

“What about getting into a fight with you?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Stop being an idiot and tell him. I’m so done watchin’ you with your puppy eyes and how you mope around. If Barnes doesn’t have much time left, then stop wasting it.”

Steve sighs heavily, looking out at the jungle. “He wants to watch Jurassic Park.”

“So watch it. I’m gonna slap the shit out of you if you don’t tell him. I’m dead serious.”

Steve laughs softly, nodding. “I don’t doubt it.”

“You know, I met T’Challa, what? Six and a half months ago now? You know what we’ve done since I’ve been here?”

Steve just waits for the answer.

“We went on a date.” Sam stands up, bowing. “I got game and your white ass doesn’t.”

“Sam!” Steve smiles, genuine and open. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Wasn’t ready to.” Sam shrugs. He turns to lean against the railing. “You know, the worst thing that could’ve happened was that we found we were just better as friends. I mean, we’re still just friends, but we’re navigating this whole thing. Takin’ it slow.” He looks over his shoulder. “The worst thing that happens with Barnes is that you two stay friends. So fuckin’ go tell him.”

Steve leans his head back, looking up at the darkening sky. Sam’s not wrong. Steve doesn’t want that moment of polite rejection on Bucky’s face. He doesn’t want to feel the precise moment where Bucky pulls away from him. But, as Sam said, the worst thing that could happen is that Bucky just asks to remain friends. People with a bond like theirs aren’t so easily conquered. Even if it doesn’t work the way Steve wants it to, they’ll still have each other.

“Okay.” Steve puts his water down, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ll go tell him.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “What? Now?”

“Why not? You’re right. We don’t know how much time we have.”

Sam’s frozen for a moment. Steve’s heart speeds up and he’s afraid Sam’s going to find a way to talk Steve down, but Sam’s face morphs into a smirk and then finally to a beaming smile. “Go get him, tiger.”

Steve feels like a barrage of butterflies has surged into his stomach. He can’t hold the smile off his face even if he tried. He stands and whirls around to the door. He’s moving fast through the building, looking into rooms and seeing various people. Some he knows, some he doesn’t. Wanda is playing pool with Clint and Scott. T’Challa is speaking to one of his bodyguards. The world could be ending right now and Steve wouldn’t stop.

He’s going to tell him. He’s going to tell Bucky.

He finds Bucky’s room and when he opens the door, all his confidence and giddy feelings settle down. Bucky’s in the bed with the reading lamp on and a book in his lap. He’s got glasses on and for a moment, Steve’s confused it’s even him. He’s never seen Bucky wearing _glasses_.

Bucky looks up and smiles before flicking the spectacles. “My vision’s fading.”

“Oh…”

“You okay? You look like you just ran a few miles.”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Steve steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He looks around at the drawn curtains, the extra blankets piled up on the bed and his sketches along the reading chair where he usually sits. “I need to tell you something.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Steve parrots.

Bucky smirks, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “The world ending? Aliens invading? Nazi zombies?”

“What?” Steve blinks, flabbergasted. “No. N-no, listen.” He moves to the bed, sitting as close as he can to Bucky without seeming like he’s encroaching upon him. “I want to believe that T’Challa will find a cure. I don’t wanna say goodbye to you.”

Bucky clicks his tongue.

“But if this is it, I don’t– Shit.” He leans back, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t want you to go without you knowing.”

Bucky just cocks a brow.

“I love you, damn it. Best guy. Number one. Soulmate. Whatever it’s called. I love you. And I just needed you to know because I’m so tired of hiding it. I’m so tired of lying to you or avoiding it just because I’m scared. It’s not fair to you and it’s disrespectful and–”

“Steve–”

“–And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. If you need me to go, I’ll go–”

“Steve!”

“–But I just needed to tell you because if you died, and I didn’t get to tell you, it’d destroy me, and I don’t even really wanna live without you, but it’d just be so much worse and–”

“STEVE!” Bucky shouts, finally getting Steve to snap his jaw shut.

Steve’s heart is up in his head, pulsing right next to his brain. It’s so damn loud and he feels he’s going to fizzle out of existence at any second. He did it. It’s over. He told Bucky and know they can move on. It doesn’t matter how they do, it’s the fact that they can. Bucky has a _choice_ and that’s all that matters.

“I know.”

“Huh?”

Bucky just snorts, rolling his eyes. “I already knew.”

Steve swallows, his brows twitching. “But, wait. If you knew? Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?!”

Bucky’s smiling so wide that it almost takes Steve back to before their lives went to literal shit. “Absolutely not.” He takes Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I was just waitin’ to see if you’d ever man up about it.”

Steve laughs, it’s an unsure little sound. Relief floods through him, pulling his heart back in place and his heavy pulse steadies out. “How long?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “The war. I think– I think I knew before then too, but I guess I had some shit to figure out first? And you were always so stubborn. I didn’t wanna overstep or– or piss you off.”

“Buck…” Steve’s face softens. He uses his other hand to reach up and cups Bucky’s face. Bucky leans into it, closing his eyes.

“I was gonna tell you,” Bucky explains. “After the mission to get Zola. I was gonna tell you, but… then I fell.” Tears well up in Bucky’s eyes. His pale lips quiver and any resolve Steve thought he had is lost. He scoops Bucky into his arms, pulling the man’s face to his chest.

“It’s okay.” Steve gently rocks them back and forth, listening to Bucky’s sniffing. “It’s okay now.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Steve laughs quietly, still rocking them. “Hey, there was a lot going on.”

“I just wanted to make sure it was real. That it wasn’t some kind of thing I made up in my mind now. I can’t even trust the memories I have– if they’re real or not.”

“What’s your favorite memory?” Steve asks. “Remember when you asked me that a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

Steve just waits, loosening his grip on Bucky so he can see his face.

Bucky bites his lip, looking around the room. “I have many.” He leans back against the pillows, pulling his knees up.

Steve leans against Bucky’s knees, balancing an arm over them so he can rest his chin on his arm.

“Every time I saw you grow up a little more. Standing up for yourself or others. When you tried to chase that kid away from the dog who always hung out behind my building. The first time I saw you really cry. The day I saw you use a _garbage_ _can_ lid to protect yourself. When you first learned how to tie a tie. God, I couldn’t breathe when you were so close to me. I didn’t really understand it then. I’ve been in love with you my whole life, Steve. I just didn’t realize it till the war.” He smiles. “What’s your favorite memory?”

Steve lets relief relax his face. “The day you put your arm around me at school and claimed me as yours.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise up in surprise.

“You were popular and smart. I was weird and small. You had so many friends, but you chose to always come hang out with me. I never really expected it, and I was so surprised when you did it. You had this whole life with dates and friends and a sport in every season and I just–” He pauses, looking away sadly. “I had dirty clothes and my art.”

“Steve–”

“I’m grateful.” He looks back at Bucky, offering a lopsided smirk. “You chose me.”

Bucky nods. “I did. I still do.”

Bucky leans forward, draping himself over Steve while Steve still holds onto Bucky’s knees. They don’t speak anymore. They don’t need to. Steve doesn’t need to know what Bucky’s done for the past two years. He doesn’t need to talk about what Bucky went through with Hydra or the Soviets. They don’t have to discuss the politics of what’s happening or the future.

They’ve always been the kind to just pick right back up if there was any time between them. But now, instead of longing gazes, avoided questions and desperate yearning, it can all be quiet smiles and silent understandings. They chose each other. They chose each other a lifetime ago and they’re still choosing each other now.

* * *

When Steve wakes up, there’s a warm body pressed into him. His face is crammed into Bucky’s neck and Bucky’s got his leg between Steve’s legs. He’s almost too warm beneath the covers with Bucky so close, but he wouldn’t pull away even if the closeness would make him burst aflame. He nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s neck.

Bucky takes a deep breath, shifting to pull Steve further into him. Steve shimmies down Bucky so he can listen to his heart. It’s uneven and sporadic– no doubt because of the serum’s breakdown. He closes his eyes, listening to that muscle beat for all its worth. Steve loves that heart. It’s trying so hard to keep going and it’s been through so much. Steve just wants it to keep going.

Now that the worst part is out of the way, reality can hit Steve with new problems. He’s not ready to see Bucky go. He knows Bucky’s not ready to go either. Maybe it could be argued that they really didn’t get to live lives, but Steve feels like they did. A short, happy life is so much more compared to a long, dull life with unhappiness. Steve was so happy with Bucky. He still is, which is why he selfishly wants more. He wants to explore this relationship. He wants to nurse it and watch it grow. It’s his now and just like a child with a new toy, he wants nothing more than to spend every moment exploring it.

“Steve?” Bucky mumbles.

“Mm?”

“Promise that you’ll never lie to me.”

The request hits Steve like a running bull. He feels the wind leave his lungs and he slips from Bucky’s chest and lies next to him– just staring. “W-what?”

“I mean if, if there’s really no chance of me living through this. I need to know. I’ll be angry, but I need to know. I just need to know how much time I’ve got with you.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, grabbing Bucky’s hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss over and over. They still haven’t actually _kissed_ yet. But there’s no rush, even with Bucky’s condition. Steve doesn’t care if they ever do.

“And don’t bottle shit up. It took us over seventy years to talk about this. I don’t want you to bottle up if I walk funny or if I chew too loud for that long. We’ve gotta talk.”

Steve laughs, nodding. He presses another kiss to the meat of Bucky’s palm before letting go of it. “Same for you, pal.”

Bucky laughs, nodding. “Then I gotta tell you something.”

“Oh?” Steve raises his brow. He’s biting the side of his lip, trying so hard to hide the smile that just wants to linger against his face.

“There’s somethin’ you do all the time. Drives me nuts.” Bucky shifts up the bed, sitting against the pillows.

Steve leans against Bucky’s thigh, holding himself up with an outstretched palm over Bucky’s body. “Whatever it is, I’ll stop.”

“No,” Bucky says quickly. “Don’t ever stop. You crinkle your nose. It’s fast and sometimes I don’t think people really notice it. But when you really smile. And I mean _really_ smile. It’s there. It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve feels tears warm his eyes. He looks down at Bucky’s chest, trailing a finger along the man’s exposed sternum. “You bite your lips all the time. Don’t ever stop doing that either.”

“You do this cute brow crease when you’re anxious about something,” Bucky continues, smiling.

“Your eyes crinkle when you smile. Don’t stop it.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, covering his face with his hand. “Oh my God. We’re disgusting!”

Steve can’t help but laugh too. It’s open and unreserved. It’s the kind of laugh he used to do before the war. It’s music against the jungle sounds and he never wants to stop.

“Well, if we’re _that couple_ , then I gotta be _that guy._ What about Sharon?” Bucky asks, licking his bottom lip. “You haven’t talked about her.”

Steve takes in a deep breath, licking his lips from side to side. “That was– It was a mistake. I was devastated about Peggy and Sharon was there. I didn’t think I could ever have you so.” He shrugs, offering a pained lift at the side of his lips. “Wasn’t fair to her.”

“Does she know?”

“About how I feel for you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “That it was a mistake.”

Steve rolls his neck, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. “No. Haven’t been able to talk to her since we went into hiding.”

Bucky looks out the window, sucking in his cheeks. “Well, I had you first. I’m selfish and I don’t share well.”

Steve smirks, his eyes squinting. It feels so good to really smile. “That’s okay, Buck. That’s fine with me.”

Someone knocks on the door. Steve has just enough time to pull away and sit cross-legged on the bed before T’Challa and a doctor enter the room. The doctor comes to Bucky’s side and begins preparations to take more of Bucky’s blood.

“Still no luck?” Steve asks, looking at the doctor tie a blue band around Bucky’s upper arm.

“We’re getting closer,” T’Challa answers.

Steve nods, watching the doctor palpitate for a vein before dipping a needle in. He winces, seeing the blood leave Bucky’s body. He turns his head, looking T’Challa’s way. “I told him.”

T’Challa smiles kindly. He nods, looking between the pair. “Congratulations.”

“For what? I told him he’s too ugly,” Bucky jokes. He looks over at Steve, and the innocence in his eyes is enough to make Steve forget how to breathe. Those eyes are so round and warm, soaking up everything life has to offer and Steve wants to just keep feeding life Bucky’s way. He never wants to see them go dark or dull. He doesn’t want to see that chest stop rising and falling.

It takes all his strength to tear his gaze away and look back at T’Challa. “He’s an ass.”

T’Challa huffs out a laugh, his grin still on his lips. “I’ll leave you two then. Though if you’re feeling up for it, Bucky, you should take a walk at least to the kitchen. I think we can officially put that quarantine behind us.”

Bucky nods, watching the doctor take the needle out of his arm. “Sounds good.”

“T’Challa,” Steve says standing up. “Hold on.” He walks out with T’Challa, making sure they’re out of earshot for Bucky. “Any news with the US?”

T’Challa sighs, leaning against the wall. “They have no jurisdiction here. I’ve told them if they come here, it’s an act of war. They’re getting the UN involved. I think the Avengers will publically be used soon.”

“Great.” Steve’s unamused.

“I told you, let them come. They will not get you or Bucky.”

Steve looks back at the door, thinking of Bucky on that bed– blissfully unaware of the US’s intentions. But he’d made a promise. He won’t lie to Bucky. It’s not a lie if it’s an omission– technically, but it’s still disrespectful. Steve owes Bucky so much more than half-truths. “I need to tell him.”

“Rest easy.” T’Challa puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You and your friends are safe here. I’ve increased border protection and required identification to get in. I’d like to avoid another trigger event with Bucky, if possible.”

“Yeah, I just had that thought too.”

“I won’t let anyone inside this building unless I personally trust them. He’s safe here. Focus on getting him better.”

“How close are you to figuring out a cure?” The question makes Steve’s blood turn to jelly– ice cold and sluggish. He watches T’Challa for any hint of insecurity or wavering.

T’Challa’s face is calm when he replies, “More than we were yesterday, but it’s still not good enough.”

“How long does he have?”

“The breakdown was designed to first make him ill, like the flu. Then he gets weak and delirious. It’s designed so his captors can find him and reverse it. If no one finds him, his organs continue to degenerate, he bleeds out and he dies.”

“Jesus.” Steve crosses his arms, looking back at the door. “How _long_?” Steve doesn’t want to ever see the day Bucky loses the ability to breathe. It doesn’t sound like a painless death and Steve _can’t_ watch Bucky suffer like that.

T’Challa shrugs. “A few weeks at most. But I’m confident we can beat this, Steve.”

Steve nods, looking at his feet. His lips are pressed into a thin line so tightly they’re practically white. It’s all he can do to keep from screaming.

“Go be with him,” T’Challa says, patting Steve on the back before walking away.

Steve turns for the door. If T’Challa is confident, then Steve will be too. They have to beat this. He can’t lose Bucky now. He feels like his whole life has been just a series of small events where he lost or almost lost Bucky.

It’s time that cycle ends.


	3. Time is Man's Worst Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality is setting in. The clock is running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this took! My summer fellowship ate me up and I was working hard on finishing off other WIPs. Here it is though :D
> 
> Also scientists! Don't judge the science! It's comic book science! :D :D :D  
> 

Steve’s watched Bucky deteriorate for days now. His skin is yellower, his body thinner and his movements are more sluggish. T’Challa keeps saying they’re getting closer but Steve’s sure the only thing they’re getting close to is his lover — _lover_ — dying. It stares at Steve every day with a swaying pendulum, taunting patiently. It’s slowly driving Steve insane. T’Challa said there’s always enough time. Steve’s sure that was a lie.

He walks back into the bedroom. His clothes are thrown about — he’s not one to care anymore about being neat. Bucky’s got socks sprinkled around the bed because he hates sleeping with them off at night and is always worried he’ll forget them. War has never left him. Bucky’s dying and he’s thinking about the importance of socks. Wet feet killed a man in the trenches.

Steve slips onto the bed, crawling over to Bucky and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Bucky’s skin is cool. He wraps around Bucky, giving off any warmth he has and praying he could be the chilled body beside a radiating one. Wishful thinking. He’s always warm and Bucky’s always cold.

Bucky goes rigid, gasping.

“Buck? What — what’s wrong?” His eyes search for the answer, too impatient to wait for the words to tumble from Bucky’s lips.

“You scared me, s’all. I didn’t — it’s nothing.”

Steve frowns, but he scoots closer, kissing the back of Bucky’s neck. Cold, just like his shoulder.

“I’m hungry,” Bucky says. He turns in Steve’s arms, his bones creaking and groaning more than they should. Steve’s heart feels like it’s getting punched over and over. “I want at least five million hot dogs.”

“You and your hot dogs.” Steve smiles.

“What can I say; I like meat in my mouth.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. Bucky’s laughing — of course — but the words put thoughts in Steve’s head that he’s not entirely sure what to do with. He’s had sex. He’s had a lot of sex. From the USO girls teaching him _tricks_ to rushed and awkward moments with Peggy. He won’t admit it out loud, but he’d seen a guy who looked similar to Bucky a few weeks after he got out of the ice. He’d slept with the guy. Cried after. The guy never called Steve again. Steve doesn’t hold that against him — Steve’s a mess — always has been. But the thought of _meat_ in Bucky’s _mouth_ makes Steve’s stomach burn in the best of ways and he’s simultaneously ready to vomit. It’s not time for that. Or maybe it is. Steve hates himself for feeling like there’s an expiration date on Bucky, like a bundle of bananas at the grocery. Bucky’s a person and Steve’s debating what’s too soon or too late.

“You can relax ya fuddy-duddy.”

Bucky’s words — the choice of words — makes Steve laugh. He noses along the bone that peeks out from the nape of Bucky’s neck, relaxing. “S’been a long time since I heard that word.”

“What word? Relax?”

Steve snorts. He doesn’t want to ruin it. He kisses Bucky’s neck, soft and slow. There’s no rush when it’s just them with the whispers of the sheets around them and the symphony outside in the jungle. In here with Bucky, Steve can pretend T’Challa isn’t facing off with the US and NATO. He can pretend that Sam and Wanda — all his friends — are safe when they’re anything but. It’s simpler when he’s with Bucky.

“Fuddy-duddy,” Bucky says.

“What?”

“That’s the word, innit?”

Steve’s response is a kiss on that cute little bone again.

“Wow.” Bucky heaves a big sigh. “No one says that anymore?”

“No one.”

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Steve just curls tighter around Bucky. He’d rather talk about words that’ve gone out of style any day over the cruel realities that surround him like a sea of snakes, ready to strike. He’s almost comforted by the idea until a somber thought creeps into his mind. It’s cold as it nestles in, making him shiver and clutch Bucky a bit more.

No one says fuddy-duddy anymore because all those people are dead. If Bucky dies, the word really will be extinct. If Bucky dies, he’ll be just like the words they used to say so casually to each other.

Gone.

* * *

“Oh great, so what? We just lounge around and wait to get assassinated? Or the US just comes in with drones?” Steve can hear Scott’s voice down the hall. He sounds agitated and Steve doesn’t fault him for that. They’re all on edge now.

“Drones would be an act of war, I don’t believe the US wants it to come to that,” T’Challa says, his voice clipped. Steve’s never heard him sound so disconcerted before.

When Steve turns the corner, he scans the room quickly. Everyone’s here including T’Challa’s bodyguards. It’s a crowded conference table, but he sneaks in next to Wanda and waits to hear more of the discussion.

“I told you,” T’Challa says leaning over the table. “We are _not_ giving you to them.”

“But they don’t care,” Clint says. “They’ll get us. They’ll use whatever means because they’re terrified of us. They locked Nat in a prison for letting Steve escape _you_ for Christ’s sake.”

T’Challa looks at the table, frowning. “I know. I’m sorry for that.”

Clint huffs, sitting back with his arms crossed. The tension is so thick Steve could cut it with a knife. He looks around at everyone’s faces. They’re scared. He’s scared. He’s managed to avoid telling Bucky about all this but if he’s gathering all this correctly, the US is serious about obtaining them again—which also means they want Bucky too. Clint’s right. They’ll find a way and it won’t be pleasant.

“I have a legal duty to keep you here if I think you will be harmed in your native countries. Yours will harm you.” T’Challa points to Clint. “And yours will certainly kill you.” He points to Wanda.

Wanda sits back, sighing.

Steve looks around the room. No one wants to argue. They’re all grateful for T’Challa and the protection he’s provided. No one is discrediting T’Challa’s ability to keep a promise or his hospitality, but Steve understands the anxiety. It’s up in his throat too.

“So the video conference didn’t go well.” Steve waits for T’Challa to nod. It’s just as he assumed it’d be. The US is nothing if not stubborn. “Do you have safe rooms? Hiding spots?”

T’Challa blinks. He looks to Sam briefly, taking in a deep breath through his nose. Steve sits patiently. He’ll always wait patiently when it comes to Bucky. Hiding Bucky is the most important objective on Steve’s radar and if the US is going to fight dirty, Steve needs to be prepared for it.

“Yes.”

“Can we use them?”

“I’m working on it.” T’Challa folds his hands behind his back. “They’re not equipped to handle Bucky in his condition. Not yet. I’ve been transferring staff and supplies into them.”

“And where are these safe rooms?” Sam leans forward. His brow is creased and he looks more like a man contemplating which limb to remove over where their location is.

“Beneath the waterfalls.” T’Challa stands tall. He’s proud of his decisions and of his handlings of the situation. Steve can tell by the way he carries himself. T’Challa’s risked everything for them and he’s done amazingly. They’re safe and each day that passes Steve clings to the hope that it’ll be the day Bucky gets cured. Steve admires T’Challa in his unwavering courage. Steve’s running out of courage and hope.

“When do we move?” Scott asks.

T’Challa stares right at Steve. “As soon as we can stabilize Bucky.”

“He’s not stabilized? But I thought…?” Scott tilts his head.

“If only his condition was that simple.”

* * *

There’s a tensing clench of muscle in Steve’s back and no matter how many deep breaths or shoulder stretches, he just can’t shake it away. He walks into the labs, feeling vastly dark in comparison to the stark white around the room. He’s dressed in a simple black sweater and gray khakis. If Natasha were here, she’d call him a grandpa. He misses her. She’s rotting in a cell and he’s hiding away halfway across the world. Friends don’t do that to friends and yet here he is — ignoring her.

It’s not like that, he thinks bitterly. He walks down a few metal stairs and watches a scientist lean over a microscope. He’s not ignoring Nat. If circumstances were different, he’d be there breaking her out. He’s not sure what prison she’s at or how long she’ll even be held. He’s not even sure if she’s had a trial. Everything is so foreign here. But not in the way Steve would’ve thought. The outside world moves on without him and with each passing step, he becomes more and more disconnected. It’s like the ice all over again.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asks.

The scientist doesn’t move from the microscope.

Steve bites his lip. “I’m — I was told we’re moving Bucky?”

“We’re not moving Bucky,” the scientist replies. His Wakandan accent is thick.

Anger is a vicious thing. It’s rude and doesn’t stay away when Steve asks that he be allowed happiness for the present time. He wants to be happy with Bucky. He doesn’t have enough time to be angry. Anger doesn’t care. It surges inside him like a hellfire, hotter than the sun and it _burns_ his skin. He balls his hands up, walking around the table. “What?”

“I said,” the scientist repeats, “that we’re not moving Bucky.” He sits back, looking up at Steve. “He’s unstable.”

“He’s fine.” They did tests that morning. Things were looking up. Steve waives a hand in a desperate attempt not to punch this man. “T’Challa said—”

“I know what he said,” the scientist says calmly. He’s got his hands folded in his lap. The anger inside Steve does nothing to scare him. He blinks slowly, breathes slowly. There’s nothing about this man that indicates fear. Somehow, Steve finds that frightening. He didn’t used to feel fear, then he’d found Bucky again and his life has been consumed by it.

“Bucky is in the second stage of his decomp.”

Steve winces.

“It’s not wise to put any more stress on him.”

Steve’s about to find out if his fist can crack this man’s face when T’Challa stands beside him. He grabs Steve’s hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around the wrist. Steve blinks, his anger vanishing like a flame without oxygen. He gulps, watching. T’Challa has an unreadable face. It’s the face of a man in charge — a man who knows he was born to lead. It soothes Steve and reminds him of a time so much simpler. It’s funny, thinking that basic training was a simpler time. What a twisted world he lives in to believe that Hitler was easier than dealing with this shit.

“We’ve had a breakthrough,” T’Challa explains. “Our plans have changed. I’m sorry.”

Steve waits.

“The serum in his body acts as both an inhibitor and a facilitator.” T’Challa leans against the table. His face still unreadable. Steve’s nerves start tingling. He misses the days when he could punch his way out of situations. Science is complicated. Politics are terrifying. All Steve wants to do is hold Bucky in case the news he’s about to hear means something bad for them.

“We’ll spare you the jargon, but there’s an enzyme our bodies need for proper immune system function. Lysozyme. Without it, Bucky will die. His serum was formulated so his body stopped producing lysozyme. Even in cryo his serum was designed to allow for destruction of his cells. That’s how they kept him weak when they removed him from stasis. I assume it was precautionary.”

“Great,” Steve says. “So we remove the serum and his body starts producing it again.” He’s not about to even attempt saying lysozyme. He’s not an idiot — science words are difficult for anyone not in the field.

“That’s the concern,” the scientist says. “You take away his serum and you take away his only way to break down the enzyme. The serum works both ways.”

Steve feels like he’s in a box. He can’t run or escape but he’s still trying to scamper to each side to see if he’s really trapped — which he is. He has to stand there and face the words that come at him like hungry wolves. “Inhibitor and facilitator.”

The scientist nods. T’Challa grimaces and it’s the first flash of genuine concern since he’d become so confident they could beat this. It rocks Steve to the core. He’s not even sure if the world’s on its axis anymore or if it’s beginning to slowly fall into the blackness of the universe. At least he’d die with Bucky… The thought alone makes him want to scream. He’s not about to give up. Defiance is so clear in his eyes that the scientist looks startled. T’Challa smirks.

“What about my serum?” He looks between them, waiting for some kind of elation or agreement. “What about _mine_?” He’s aware he’s on the verge of yelling. They’re so close. They’re standing on the precipice of life or death and Bucky’s not sure where he’s allowed to lean. He doesn’t want to die. _Steve_ doesn’t want him to die. They’d just found each other again. After years of turmoil, guilt, unanswered questions and a love that Steve thought he lost — they’re together again. He won’t give that up so easily.

“We’ve thought about it,” T’Challa answers after what feels like decades for Steve. Every second matters when it’s Bucky’s life on the line. Each pause hits Steve like the taunting clock in a hot schoolroom. It’s soul crushing. “The largest issue is we’d need more than what your blood could provide.”

“How much?”

“We’d need enough to convert his serum into yours.”

“So my life for his?” It seems laughable because the answer is so apparent to Steve. He’d give up his life for Bucky’s, but would Bucky even want a life without him?

“No,” T’Challa answers. “We’re not doing that.”

“But that’s what you need, right? You need my blood and I’m guessin’ you need all of it.”

“We need a pure serum strand,” the scientist interrupts. “It’s not really about blood at all.” Steve notices the shine his bald head gives in the harsh white light of the room. It reminds him of Erskine’s head. Sadness has a way of holding on long after the initial set in. It lingers like mold in the corner of a bathroom, slowly ebbing further in and it cannot be removed no matter how hard someone scrubs. Steve will always miss Dr. Erskine.

“How do you get a pure serum strand?” Steve asks.

T’Challa shrugs. “We take a lot of your blood for experimentation.”

“Done.” Steve sits down. “Take whatever you need.” He rolls up his sweater.

* * *

Steve’s a bit woozy when he walks back to his and Bucky’s room. The knowledge that it’s _their_ room still makes him smile as he holds onto the wall. He’ll be better soon, but right now his body has to work out that he’s down about a quarter of his blood. _His and Bucky’s room_. He treasures that thought like it’s the last gift he’ll ever be given.

He walks into the room. Bucky’s standing by the window, watching the light rain outside. “Buck?”

Bucky turns around. His mouth drops open and he stares at Steve like he’s never met him before. He flinches, his gaze darting around the room. A distressed noise escapes his throat and it’s enough to send Steve stumbling forward cautiously.

“Bucky? Wha— are you okay?”

“Steve.” The syllables are tight, like they’re clawing their way out through broken glass and dark holes in the earth. Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. “O-oh God.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve closes the distance between them, wrapping Bucky’s trembling form in his arms. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

“I forgot you,” Bucky whispers. He clutches harder with his arm around Steve. “I forgot you. Oh _God_ , Steve. I don’t wanna forget you!” He collapses, crying against Steve’s shoulder. His body’s already lost so much muscle that he’s almost the size he was during the war— not quite, but he’ll get there. His skin is cold, bruised and yellow. Steve doesn’t even want to tell Bucky that he’s starting to smell like stale blood. There’s so much he loses… Nosebleeds, ear bleeds. Even his tears are pink from his system slowly breaking down.

Steve holds him as he cries. T’Challa said he’d memorized one of Steve’s speeches once. Steve curses himself for not being able to find words to comfort the only person that needs those words the most. Speeches are empty encouraging words meant to inspire. But Steve knows a good speech doesn’t win a war. They can only mask the fear that men fear before trudging into battle. However, they can heal the soul, bring courage and soothe nerves. Steve can’t find a single syllable to comfort Bucky. So he clutches him, listening to the sniffling sobs, the soft whispers. _I don’t wanna forget. I don’t wanna forget. I don’t wanna forget._

Steve wonders what changed in Bucky’s life that made everything go so _wrong_. He’d had a beautiful childhood with great parents, loving siblings and he’d been blessed with a pretty face. God gave Bucky Barnes broad shoulders, pouted lips and a hooded gaze that turned everyone’s heads. He’d dated, kissed and held hands in the darkness of the theater before they were even twelve! He’d been blessed with a life worth living.

Then he got drafted.

Something changed in Bucky’s blessed life. It was almost like God decided Bucky hadn’t suffered along with Steve and that he needed his own personal tragedy. Steve was given a horrible childhood — his saving graces being his ma and Buck. Abusive father, bad lungs, partial deafness and color blindness. He’d been given a crappy immune system and there’d been more than one occasion that Bucky cried over him as the priest read him his Last Rights. Bucky had suffered with Steve Rogers. Bucky didn’t need to keep suffering, just like Steve didn’t need to _stop_ suffering. He’d take all that happened to Bucky and carry it himself if he could. If he could go back in time, the first thing he’d do is push himself off that train and make sure Bucky lived to tell the tale.

“Steve,” Bucky says. His voice is so hoarse that it doesn’t even sound like him. He sounds so much older than what he looks like. Perhaps time is just catching up to them.

“I’m here, Buck,” Steve whispers.

“I’m gonna die—” the pause is excruciatingly painful, “ain’t I?”

Steve can’t speak because his throat is full of rocks. He swallows the pain down, only a distant strangled sound ripping from his throat.

“I know,” Bucky says. “I’ve always known.” He pulls back, looking at Steve’s face like he’s the one about to sketch the lines of Steve’s nose or the curves of his jaw. They stand there, nothing but the soft sounds in the jungle and the pitter-patter of the rain on the window. Bucky licking his lips and Steve trying to hold it together when everything is coming apart at the seams. One step forward and two steps back. A pure serum strand. It took Erskine years to develop Steve’s serum. Steve believes in miracles; he believes in God — but God maybe doesn’t believe in Bucky. Hope dances out before Steve, a shimmering golden light on an otherwise colorless world. He’s so terrified that it’ll be yanked from his grasp he dares not touch it.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “We’re working on it.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m past that already.” He reaches up, caressing Steve’s face. He smiles, warm and unguarded. His eyes searching for something Steve’s not even sure exists. Bucky takes a step closer. The bags under his eyes are deep purple and red. Steve’s sure there’s a pool of blood beneath the skin. Pennies, Steve thinks. Bucky’s starting to smell like pennies. It’s not so bad, given the fact that Steve has smelled the dead before. Bucky doesn’t smell dead — just sick.

“I’m gonna remember this face,” Bucky says. He brushes the pads of his fingers over Steve’s nose and lips. “I’m gonna remember these lips.”

Steve smiles, resisting the urge to open his mouth and nibble on Bucky’s fingers. He’s so afraid to break Bucky’s skin.

“I won’t allow myself to forget you,” Bucky steps back, “not ever again.” He swallows roughly, turning to get into the bed. His bones pop, he groans in discomfort and Steve thinks he’s going a shade yellower. Then he’s in bed, blinking at Steve. “Steve, we don’t know if I’ve got a tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that—”

“Please, Steve.” Bucky holds up a silencing hand. “Please come here and kiss me till I fall asleep.”

Steve’s heart wails. It cries silently because Steve’s eyes can’t show how sad they feel. He crawls into bed, pressing his lips to Bucky’s. He’s mindful not to lean his weight too hard against Bucky and eventually finds a comfortable spot with Bucky scooped into his arms. His heart keeps crying with every flick of the tongue, brush of the nose or breathy gasp that escapes between them. Bucky’s giving up. Steve isn’t.

But Steve can’t find words to say. They’re screaming at him—save him, tell him you love him. Steve can’t say them. So they go unsaid.

* * *

“I don’t want you to draw me anymore,” Bucky says. He’s sprawled out on the bed above a sea of pillows. He’ll hold Steve so tightly at night, but he always ends up burrowing beneath them. Steve thinks it’s cute. But his fondness for Bucky’s sleeping habits isn’t on the forefront of his mind. He’s paralyzed, his pencil paused in the air.

“Why?”

Bucky bites his lip. It goes white. Steve winces because the bite wasn’t even that hard. “Because—look at me.”

Steve’s heart screams. “I am.”

“Is this really what you want? A walking corpse.”

Steve crosses the room. He pulls Bucky onto his chest and squeezes. “You’re not a corpse.”

“But I will be.”

“No you won’t!”

“ _Steve_!” The tone surprises Steve. It’s so loud. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop giving—stop being an idiot.” Pink tears well in Bucky’s eyes. The color highlights the grey in Bucky’s irises. It’s a beautiful sunset with an oncoming storm. Steve’s amazed and terrified all at once. “Stop lyin’ to yourself.”

“I believe in what they’re doing.”

“Steve, this morning I forgot how to brush my teeth. I stood there staring and I didn’t understand—” His voice cracks. He gasps, trying to regain composure. “Little things are falling from my mind again. Notes to songs I thought I knew. The names of planets.”

“That stuff doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter, Steve! It was in my mind and it’s not there anymore!” Anger flashes across Bucky’s face. He looks more and more lifeless every day, but the anger puts pink in his cheeks. It’s not a proper time to find him beautiful, but Steve does all the same.

“What matters is—” a trembling tone, “—is that we’re together now. Stop hoping for a future that might not come. Be with me—now.”

“I am with you.”

Bucky yanks away from Steve. He pushes himself against the headrest, breathing deeply. He’s angry and Steve can’t help the twitching on his lips as they try to smile. There’s color in Bucky’s cheeks.

“You’re drawing me. We do the same thing every day. Wake up, eat together, I get poked by doctors, you draw me. _You_ get poked by doctors. I watch you. You eat lunch and I pretend to because I’m not hungry anymore.”

“You said–”

“I know what I said, Steve!” Bucky looks to his lap. “I didn’t wanna scare you.”

There’s wire around Steve’s heart. They push in and squeeze tears from his eyes. He gasps. How could he not notice? They eat lunch every day together. Bucky never finishes his plate, but that’s okay. Steve’s watched him put the food to his mouth. Steve’s eyes widen.

Steve also remembers following Bucky’s finger as he pointed at birds or snakes out the wall-spanning windows. The interruptions by friends as they come to talk. The bathroom breaks Bucky has. It’s so clear now.

“The point is,” Bucky says in resignation, “that I don’t know how much time I got left. Shouldn’t we be makin’ the most of it?”

Steve doesn’t respond this time. It’s not his place to.

“I made a list of things I wanna do before I die.” Bucky leans over the bed and slips a piece of paper out from under the mattress. It’s one of Steve’s discarded doodles that he’d thrown in the trash. He hands it to Steve.

Steve lists out, “Climb a mountain, pet a lion, scuba dive.” He stops, starting at the rest of the list. It’s not long. In fact, it’s not even the length that gives Steve pause. It’s the words. They’re shaky and Steve sees tear stains. He knows because of the pink hue to them. “Kiss— kiss Steve under a waterfall. Go for a night walk with S-Steve. M-make—make love with—” Tears fill Steve’s eyes. He can’t read the list anymore. “Bucky—”

Bucky pulls Steve’s face to his chest. He calmly strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve’s sobbing, shoulders shaking and tears streaming. Bucky’s fingers are steady. They’re steadier than they’ve been in weeks.

“I know,” Bucky says softly. “I know.”

Steve can’t speak. His mind is consumed with the bitter injustice that his life’s become. Did the serum also come with an unspoken clause for misery and loneliness? Steve’s been lonely since Bucky fell. Having Bucky again—it was everything to Steve. He’d finally gotten his _life_ back. Now it was being ripped away again. Steve had been wrong. His suffering had never stopped.

What has he done to upset God so?

He clings to Bucky, shaking more than he’d like, but the emotions have stewed deep within him for far too long. He can’t hold them back anymore. He’s terrified. He’s anguished. He’s not just crying tears, he’s crying out memories of when Bucky lost his two front teeth, or when they shared ice cream at the pier. He’s crying out glistening bits of his soul that drip into Bucky’s skin. Each time he watches them, praying for some miracle where his tears restore Bucky’s life. They don’t.

The world doesn’t work like that. Aliens are real. Gods walk among men. Boys swing from webs in city skylines. But the world doesn’t grant miracles. It’s time Steve Rogers starts realizing that.

* * *

Steve sits at the table. There’s an agenda in front of him, assembled by one of T’Challa’s people. He hasn’t read it. He’s thinking over the list Bucky gave him. The list that started out so easy and then ripped him into smithereens. They didn’t talk about it in the morning. They didn’t talk about it in the evening. They went to bed like they always did. Except that night—Bucky stopped breathing. After the doctors came in with tubes and knives, they’d discovered Bucky had blood clots in his lungs.

He had to endure painful clot busting procedures completely conscious—they tell Steve that’s how it always goes no matter the patient. Steve heard the screaming. He’ll never forget that screaming.

“Steve?”

Steve looks up. Everyone’s staring at him. He looks to the agenda, then up to Sam. Sam points to the bullet they’re on. “Uh, negotiation?”

“What’s your opinion on negotiating with NATO? Not the US.” T’Challa leans against the conference table.

“I don’t care,” Steve says. “Honestly, I don’t really care about any of this. Can I go?” He stands. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“Steve.” It’s Wanda’s voice. Her eyes are shining and he knows she empathizes. She knows what guilt feels like. What it feels like to survive when others haven’t. He grimaces, nodding at her. She gives the faintest smile.

Steve leaves. He has enough time to find himself in a spare room before the panic attack sets in. He’s gasping for air and his vision blurs. He’s never felt anxiety cling to his nerves like thick mucus before, but it’s there. It weighs against him and he struggles against it. His sternum feels like it’s breaking. The world darkens, his skin breaks out in goosebumps. He’s still gasping.

Sam and Wanda find him. Hands touch skin and he starts to laugh. He can’t feel them. He’s staring at blurred faces, but he knows who they are. He hears voices, but can’t understand the language. Sam’s in front of him. His hand is around the back of Steve’s neck and he’s speaking.

Steve sucks in air, remembering the days when this happened because he just wasn’t strong enough. Now he’s got all the strength in the world. That doesn’t mean shit for Bucky. He’s still useless to save his best friend—the love of his life.

“You okay?” Sam says. Wanda’s head is next to his. Her smoky eyeliner is somehow comforting. Steve stares at her, mesmerized by the black that surrounds bright eyes. Bucky’s eyes had been covered in grease paint like that once.

“Don’t tell Bucky,” are the first words out of Steve’s mouth. “He can’t know.”

“Can’t know what? That you’re a mess?” Sam helps Steve up. “Dude, he was your best friend before your boyfriend. He’d wanna know.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t want him to. It’s not fair.”

“Fair that he knows you’re suffering?” Wanda asks.

“He’s got it worse.” Steve leans against the wall, sulking. He crosses his arms. “I have to be strong. I’ve crumbled enough.” He thinks to his wailing in Bucky’s arms and the steady strokes of Bucky’s fingers along the back of his head. Why could Bucky keep it together when Steve couldn’t? Steve is a grown man who’s lived a life of hiding how he really felt. Why is this hard now?

“This isn’t a fuckin’ competition, Steve,” Sam says, brows furrowed. “He’s upset. You’re upset. Don’t spend the entire time being upset!” Sam steps back. “Enjoy what you have, man. I know you don’t wanna hear it but—it’s possible we’re not gonna be fast enough.”

Steve bites his tongue to keep from lashing out. He knows this. He knows the clock is looking at him with its judgmental stare. He balls his fists up, pressing them to the wall. Why is it that everyone must remind him of the _lack_ of time? Why is T’Challa the only one saying there’s enough time. There isn’t! There’s not enough time for Steve to show Bucky how much he loves him.

Crying in front of Sam isn’t hard. Crying in front of Wanda? A person who has used Steve as her rock? That is hard.

Tears trail down his face, betraying him. It’s a silent, resigned cry that men achieve when they’re so beaten down that they don’t know how to stand again.

Wanda reaches out. Her thumb brushes a tear. Sam just pulls Steve into a hug. Steve allows their arms to hold him. He clutches them, feels the warmth through their clothes. He’s had enough of being sad. Wasted minutes tick by, but he doesn’t move. Love comes in many forms. It comes in the appearance of a pretty face with a beautiful smile. It comes smelling like a best friend. Steve loves these people. So he squeezes just a bit tighter.

He can do this for them. He can do this for Bucky.

* * *

Bucky sounds like Steve used to before the war. His breath rattles in his ribs and sometimes he tries to hide the coughing. Steve’s begged him to not, but Bucky’s nothing if not stubborn. The humidity out in the air isn’t good for him, Steve knows this. But again, Bucky is _nothing_ if not stubborn. It reminds Steve of himself and he has to be proud of it.

Bucky coughs finally, pulling a handkerchief up to his mouth. Steve can see the red seep into the fabric. He makes no indication of fear or disappointment. It is what it is. T’Challa is working on a pure serum strand and the tiny little holes in Steve’s arm is evidence enough.

“It’s a long way to the top,” Steve says, looking up. “You really wanna do this?”

“I’m climbing a damn jungle mountain, Rogers.” Bucky playfully bumps Steve’s shoulder. “There’s no train to send me falling this time.”

Steve grimaces.

“It was a joke!” Bucky laughs—wild and free, almost like there’s not a swinging pendulum in his brain that’s whispering, _soon, soon, soon_. “C’mon. Help me climb.”

They go slow. The clouds caress their skin, like curious flying whales. Steve pictures a world unlike their own. One of whales dancing in the sky, surrounded by twinkling stars, and flamingos swimming in the ocean with portals to other worlds—beckoning to be explored. He pictures a world where Bucky’s safe, healthy and free. He pictures a world with no use for superheroes because magic blankets them all. He wants that world more than anything.

Bucky falters a few times. There’s a moment where Steve thinks they’ll need to turn back, but Bucky keeps pulling his weight up. He’s sweating, his muscles straining. Each huff is a wheeze and Steve wishes Bucky would let him carry them both up, but that isn’t the point of this.

This climb is to prove something to Bucky. Steve knows what it’s like when you’ve got something to prove. He’s been that person. Accomplishing those goals had been a fruitless win. He’d lost so much to get there, but he _needed_ to learn that lesson.

“I—oh shit—how close are we?” Bucky pants. Sweat’s beading down his brow. He’s flushed and Steve’s happy—there’s life in that body yet.

Steve looks up, wincing. “Gotta long way to go. We could go down?”

“No! I can do this.” Bucky pulls himself up on a vine, groaning. “I’m fine.” His limbs start shaking, but he keeps pulling himself up.

Steve smiles sadly. Bucky is so far from being fine. They continue further up. Climbing silently with nothing but the groaning sounds of the jungle and Bucky’s wheezes. There’s a small cliff and Bucky plops down, sighing in relief. Steve joins him and together they nurse one of the water bottles Steve brought. Their shoulders are touching. Steve can feel the heat pulsing from Bucky. Bucky’s _warm_. That in itself is magic. Maybe Steve’s magical world isn’t so far off afterall.

“I wanna pet a lion.”

“It’s on your list.”

“Yeah, but like, I just needed you to hear that again. Like—that’s up at the top of the list.”

Steve smirks. He lets Bucky hog the water. Bucky needs it more.

“So that list is all in ranks?” Steve doesn’t know why he’s asking. Curiosity, probably. The last few things were more romantic—sexual. He’s not sure he can do it. But if Bucky wants it? Is it right to hold that back? Steve’s so afraid of breaking Bucky.

“Saved the best for last.” Bucky doesn’t even miss a beat. It’s like he has a perfect view of the inner-workings of Steve’s mind. He smirks, sucking back the last bit of the water. “Jesus—d’ya got any more water?”

Steve pulls out another bottle from the backpack. “I probably brought too many.”

Bucky smiles. “I’ll need it all, I’m sure.” He cracks open the bottle and starts guzzling it down.

“Easy,” Steve cautions. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

Bucky laughs around the bottle. He wipes at the dribble of water on his chin. “Make myself sick? Steve, I’m decaying from the inside out. I think we’re past that.”

Steve just looks down at the foliage beneath them. The world’s so green here. Most would soak up the scenery, but Steve longs for the browns of Brooklyn in a time where monsters and superheroes didn’t exist. A time where he was small and Bucky was the strong one. He’d give anything to go back, knowing what he knows now. He’d take Bucky to Canada and they’d live on some farm. No war, no Captain America—but then all the Howlies would’ve died. All the men Steve saved—all the battles he’d won. He bites the inside of his cheek. Life isn’t fair to anyone.

“Steve.” Bucky’s using that tone he always does when he’s about to ask the philosophical questions—the ones Steve hates to answer. “Do you—um—do you wanna be with me?”

“What?”

“I mean—like— _be_ with me.”

It takes Steve a few beats to understand what Bucky’s asking. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“N-no I mean—I mean yes—but I mean—wait, this is all wrong.”

“What?” Bucky’s face tightens as fear sets in.

“No not you!” Steve holds his hands up. “Jesus! Hold on. Yes, yes I want to—but—I mean, your condition. Is it even safe?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno. Dyin’ by a good fuck doesn’t seem so bad though.”

“A good fuck?” Steve’s horrified.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not gonna be just a fuck, Bucky. If that’s what you want, I can’t just do it all on your terms. It’s not just sex—not to me.”

“I know that! Jesus, you’re such a woman.”

Steve rolls his eyes. There’s nothing wrong with being compared to women. He can count on both hands all the women he idolizes.

“I’m just tryin’ to make the situation light, okay? God, Steve—every day I wake up wonderin’ if my dick’s fallen off. Like a leper or something. You know their dicks fell off?!”

Steve smirks. “The bible didn’t mention that one.”

“Yeah well—my rabbi made sure we knew that.” Bucky stares at Steve, chewing on his lips. “God, you remember Rabbi Uri? What a man.”

“He brought you a tiny half-dead Christmas tree and called it a Chanukah bush.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Oh my God! My mom was mortified!”

“You were always jealous of my Christmas trees.”

“They were pretty!”

They laugh. For a few fleeting minutes, Steve remembers what it was like before Bucky got sick. Laughter, jokes, Bucky’s devilish lips just taunting Steve. Steve blinks a few times when realization sets in. He can _kiss_ those lips. He leans in. Bucky was about to say something and there’s a small _ompf_ as Steve’s lips collide with his, but then they’re kissing. They’re kissing on a cliff on a mountain in the jungle and it’s too hot and they’re both sweating but it’s the best damn kiss Steve’s ever had. His heart’s beating out of his chest, his fingers are zinging and it’s the single greatest moment of his life. Bucky’s alive. They’re kissing. Tongues are flicking to greet each other, lips are tangling, saliva is mixing and teeth are clacking. So much euphoria dumps into Steve that he starts to laugh. Bucky laughs back.

They rest their foreheads together, sharing air with their panting. Eyes stare, lips curl up. They’re together and for now, that’s what matters the most. No impending doom can take that away from Steve. Sam’s right. This isn’t some kind of competition. This is life and Steve will damn sure make sure Bucky _lives_ —even if it’s not for long.

“I love you, Steve.”

Steve nods, because the words get stuck in his throat. Bucky smiles, knowing full well Steve would say it back if he could. They pull apart and Bucky goes back to chugging his water. He’s swinging his legs now, giddy.

“So you really wanna try to—uh—to be with me?” Smooth, Rogers.

“You mean us fuckin’? Steve, if I die before we do that, I’m comin’ back as a ghost and you’re not gonna like that one.”

“Oh my God.” Steve snorts back laughter. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’ve waited too long to love you,” Bucky says seriously. “I don’t wanna miss anything else.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling much more confident than before. Bucky isn’t breakable. Steve was a fool for thinking so. “Yeah, me too.”

“It doesn’t have to get weird or anything—”

“Oh my God! Bucky!”

“No! Hear me out! I’ve thought about it!”

“We’re done. It’s time to move on.” Steve stands up, laughing.

“Just some fondling, maybe let me play with your nipples?”

“Oh my _God_! Stop it!” Steve can feel the heat in his cheeks. He’s probably redder than a damn cherry. Curse his Irish heritage.

“What? I know you! I _know_ they’re sensitive!”

Steve’s already climbing up the mountain. Fuck Bucky. He can climb the rest of his way himself. “I’m not listening!”

“Well then fine, I’ll just tell _myself_ all the things I wanna do with you. Lil tongue on dick action, maybe some sixty-nining—”

“I hate you!” Steve almost misses his next vine grab.

“I love you too, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr!](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	4. Not a Perfect Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got too much living left to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look over a year to get an update and it's only over 5k. Welp...............it's something at least?
> 
> Because of all the movies happening and whatnot, I'm actually editing this story a bit and I like where it's going to go. It's going to bring us into Infinity Wars and honestly, I ain't mad about that it took so long for me to update. The next chapter will be far longer, but this was more of an appropriate "get ready for it" aka transition chapter. So I hope it at least gets people back into liking the story again? 
> 
> This chapter is NOT beta'd, so expect all the typos!
> 
> Also look, new tags!

Steve watches Bucky as he pets a lion. Bucky had been too weak to go into the jungle but T’Challa didn’t seem to be short on surprises. He’d brought a lion to Bucky.

“He’s so fluffy,” Bucky says, looking up at Steve with a wide smile. “Touch him.”

Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t want to stop watching the way Bucky’s skin glows golden in the low light. He memorizes the steady purr of the lion’s throat. It’s a gentle hum, like the life inside Bucky. Gentle and ever-present. Bucky isn’t dead yet. And with each day that Bucky lives, they get closer to a cure. Steve’s as sure of it as he’s sure his bones are inside his skin.

The lion’s amber eyes look at Steve. He blinks slow, his mind connecting to Steve’s in a way that Steve didn’t think possible. He sees himself in the lion’s eyes, face pale, bags heavy under his eyes. He’s fading away too. The lion reminds him that he needs to be strong for Bucky, because Bucky can’t be expected to smile when a lion isn’t there with him.

“On second thought.” Steve walks over and scratches the lion behind the ear. He kisses Bucky on the forehead and together their fingers tangle into the lion’s mane. “S’not every day you get to pet a lion.”

“Ain’t it something?” Bucky asks.

Steve can’t take his eyes off Bucky. “Yeah, Buck. It is.”

Sam pokes his head in the door. He looks from the lion to Steve and jerks his head to the hallway.

Steve follows, but not before shooting an apologetic face Bucky’s way. Bucky just waves it off. He seems to be content enough now with the lion.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, arms crossed. He doesn’t like getting pulled from Bucky, not when the minutes on their time together matter more than the hours they thought they’d have when they were children.

“Tony called your phone. The emergency one?” Sam cringes.

There’s a howling in Steve’s ears. It knocks him into the wall and he pushes his fingers into it to steady himself. He hadn’t expected that—not so soon after all that happened. Steve nearly took his head off. He regretted it now, but he didn’t know what he could’ve done differently. Bucky still and would always mean more to him than anything else in the world.

“Did he say anything?” Steve asked.

“What? I mean, duh.”

“I’m not thinking straight, Sam. Just—what happened.” Steve keeps his hands on the wall for balance. He feels he’d fall into the hallway and continue falling. The outside world had stayed away for so long. Steve threw himself into the severity of Bucky’s condition. He’d forgotten there were people out there whom Steve called a friend once. Tony. Rhodey. Thor, even.

“Things are getting’ weird out there. He knows you’re here and he didn’t apologize, but I think he wants to talk. He regrets what happened.”

“No way,” Steve says. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. But with Bucky, there’s no telling what Tony would need and how long Steve would be away. He can’t risk it.

Sam frowns. “Dude.”

“I know, Sam. I know I’m being an idiot.” He points to the room Bucky’s in, bundled up in blankets on a wheelchair with a lion nearby. “But Bucky.”

Sam purses his lips. “Yeah I know, man. But the universe doesn’t stop just because one man is dying.”

Steve’s heart shatters. Sam is kind enough to remind Steve, even if it hurts, of the consequences of ignoring the universe. He’s not wrong, and Steve wishes he was so bad it hurts his chest. “I’ll call him back. Just—not now.”

“Okay.”

Steve goes back into the room, watching from the doorway. The lion’s got his head on Bucky’s lap and together they’ve both dozed off. A Wakandan guard stands by, her face emotionless and eyes forward.

Steve wishes he could see more of Wakanda. T’Challa set them up in a science facility, but even with Wakanda’s protection, Steve’s sure that not all Wakandans know Steve and Bucky are even here. There’s a city somewhere, but Steve’s never seen it. He just looks out to the foggy waterfall with the black panther that keeps watch.

He walks quietly into the room and sits in the corner, looking out the window into the fog and clouds that laze around the building they’re in. He hears a tiny hitch in Bucky’s breath and he’s up in an instant.

Bucky blinks furiously, his body relaxing when he sees Steve. “Fell asleep.” He looks down at the lion. “So did this guy.”

“Lot’s of excitement,” Steve says.

Bucky strokes his fingers through the lion’s mane and nods. “M’ready to go back to our room now.”

The guard comes and helps take the napping lion into the corner of the room where he lies down. She waves Bucky and Steve off and Steve guides Bucky’s wheelchair down the halls.

“I feel like my grandpa,” Bucky says.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m in a wheelchair with a blanket over my legs and some young hottie is taking me back to my room.”

Steve flushes red. “Young hottie, huh?”

“I mean, for him it was nurses but me? Yeah, I’m into blond guys who sulk to an unusual degree.”

“I do not sulk!”

“Did you just hear yourself? Could you hear the bullshit plopping around that statement? Yeesh.” Bucky scoots down in the wheelchair so he can look up at Steve, smirking.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m a dirty old man.” Bucky is completely unapologetic. He waggles his brows up at Steve and it takes everything in Steve not to lean down and indulge in those pretty lips that look up at him.

They get back to their room and Steve helps Bucky out of the wheelchair and into bed. He tucks the blankets around Bucky, pausing when he notices the silence between them. “Buck?”

“I’m here.” But he doesn’t sound like it. He’s staring at his feet, eyes glazed over. “I’ve been thinking about my—condition.” He hates calling it that.

It makes Steve’s stomach flip.

“I get weaker by the day. There’ll be a day where I can’t lift my head up. I know I’m not supposed to rush this. But if anyone’s gotta good excuse for rushing a relationship, it’s me.”

Steve keeps silent.

“I love you, Steve. And I wanna show how much I love you. But I can’t if I can’t even—walk or—move.” Tears shine in his eyes and it takes all of Steve’s resolve not to crumble into sand and fly away into nothing.

Steve reaches out, cupping Bucky’s bristly face and wiping the tears away. He presses his nose to Bucky’s and they share a soft, chaste kiss. “What do you need me to do?”

“Let me touch you. Because I need it.” Bucky’s voice cracks. “Please.”

Steve toes his shoes off and slips his shirt off. His hands linger on his pants and he pauses, watching the way Bucky looks at him. One part excited and two parts terrified. “This too much?”

“I wanna see you naked,” Bucky says.

Steve steps forward, taking Bucky’s hands and putting them on his jeans. He’s already aroused, his body flushed warm and tingling between his thighs. He doesn’t want to scare Bucky with it, but Steve never expected how fast his body would react to the way Bucky’s voice whispered out those words. See him naked. Chills ran up and down Steve’s spine.

Bucky slowly undoes Steve’s zipper, his lashes obscuring his eyes. He presses kisses to Steve’s abs, letting his nose trail around the bellybutton.

Steve laughs because it tickles.

Bucky looks up with a smile, large as the sun in the sky. It takes everything in Steve not to break down and cry. He loves it when Bucky smiles like that, the one that looks like the world never took anything from him and he’s just a stupid kid. But they’re not stupid kids. They’re men who were asked to be men far before they were ready. They were children when the war took them. Bucky was supposed to go to school. He was supposed to take over his father’s shop and make a good living, get a good wife.

Steve was the one who was supposed to die first. It was supposed to be Steve. So why wasn’t it now? Why did Bucky have to go when Steve should’ve been the one to die first all along?

“Hey,” Bucky says. His hands splay out on Steve’s stomach. “If this is too much?”

“No,” Steve whispers. He slinks out of his pants and carefully straddles Bucky. “I need this too. I just—didn’t realize how badly.”

Bucky laughs, tucking strands of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Your hair’s getting long. Kinda like what it used to be.”

Steve touches it. He hasn’t been caring for it while they’ve been here. He guesses it’s longer. It’s his chin that’s really what he’s noticed. It’s covered in bristles now, like Bucky’s.

“D’you like it?” Steve asks, voice low and husky.

Bucky pulls Steve into a kiss, their lips slow and unhurried. Steve likes the way Bucky’s chapped lips chill his heated body. He tingles all the way into his dick at the way Bucky’s tongue barely touches his, little reminders, gone before Steve even knows they’re there. Bucky kisses down Steve’s throat and laps at his collarbone.

Steve sighs, dropping his head back. He wants to do everything Bucky’s doing to him and more. He wants to make Bucky’s body burn the way his is. He reaches out, catching Bucky’s hand and lifelessly allows himself to fall to the bed.

Bucky crawls atop him, slipping out of his clothes. He’s bruised all over his stomach, a painting of roses all red, purple and skies of blue. Steve touches his torso gingerly, eyes saying everything his throat can’t.

Bucky bites his lip, looking away. “Is it too—ugly?”

“What? Buck, no.” Steve holds Bucky atop him, hands on Bucky’s hips to keep him planted. “You’re beautiful.” He trails his gaze to Bucky’s naked cock, flaccid and resting atop Steve’s abdomen. Steve bites the corner of his mouth, looking up at Bucky with devilish eyes. “You’re dick’s pretty.”

“Ew. Steve.” Bucky leans forward, scooping Steve’s lips into a kiss.

They rock into each other until they’re both hard and throbbing.

Bucky’s face is flushed red, heat in the tips of his fingers. Steve’s elated from how warm Bucky is as they thrust back and forth into each other. He reaches out, grabbing Bucky’s dick, his fingers working it over, up and down.

Bucky sighs, head dropping back.

Steve’s body tingles all over. He likes seeing the way Bucky’s abdomen stretches out, the arch of his ribs dipping into the concave of his taut muscles. He’s skinnier than the hulking mass Steve found in Bucharest, but he’s still all Bucky.

Bucky’s panting. He leans forward, face against Steve’s. He looks like he tries to open his eyes but they flutter shut each time. Steve wants to reach up and trace his lips, red and open, but his hand is busy sliding back and forth on Bucky’s dick, his other busy steadying him.

He gasps when Bucky’s asscheeks slip over his dick, a flirtatious beckoning. Steve wants more. Undeniably, he wants more. He wants to be inside Bucky, tucked away and utterly safe and sound with the man he loves more than he thought possible. He wants Bucky’s gasps, the tiny jerks of his muscles, and those beautiful fluttering eyes.

Warmth splashes onto Steve’s torso, quick and cooling fast. He looks down, watching Bucky’s red cock tremble in his hand, dribble slipping down it and mucking up Steve’s fingers. He keeps pumping, his gaze now on Bucky’s face.

Bucky comes silently, his back arched, his mouth open. He stills atop Steve, eyes slowly slipping open. His cheeks are dusted red, sunkissed skin without the help of the sun. The life inside Bucky beats on, flourishing him with color and energy.

Steve laughs.

“We gotta do that again,” Bucky says, kissing Steve. “Soon.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s forehead, watching as he crumbles into Steve’s lap to curl up. Steve’s got come on him, Bucky’s come, except Bucky doesn’t seem to care. He’s already still in Steve’s arms.

“M’sorry I can’t—stay awake. Make you—feel good too.” Bucky’s voice is so soft Steve has to strain to hear it.

“I do feel good, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head, his long hair tickling Steve’s chest. “You didn’t finish.”

“It’s not always about the end, but the journey.” Steve smirks, proud of his words.

“You sap.” Bucky can’t keep his eyes open any longer. They slide shut, and he starts lightly snoring in Steve’s arms, warm, sweaty and flushed red.

Steve strokes his hair, his chest trembling with a gentle hum. He likes the way Bucky presses into him, how their bodies just melt into each other—paint destined to intertwine to make colors of hope and love. It burns though Steve, this new color they’ve made. He’s wide awake, his heart pounding and he can’t stop smiling no matter how bad his jaw hurts.

This was the first time they’d made love, but it wouldn’t be the last. Steve grabs Bucky’s ass, a boy holding onto his blanket for comfort. He hears a tiny hitch in Bucky’s breath before he closes his eyes. Not to sleep, but to just feel. Bucky’s all around him. The scent in the air, the heat on his skin and the sound in his ears. He’s a musical all around Steve. The actors, the orchestra, and the lights. Steve’s in the middle of it all, reveling and praying the moment never fades.

But like all good things. It comes to an end.

* * *

Bucky doesn’t wake up the next day. He sleeps through it all. Through Steve’s donation of more blood. Through Sam’s talk with Steve about calling Tony. Through T’Challa’s sudden disappearance as he deals with something in Wakanda.

Bucky doesn’t wake.

* * *

Steve stares at his phone. It matches the one he’d left Tony, a crappy flip-phone that’s only good for calling. He regards it like a man regards a bloodied heart on a platter with flies surrounding it. Brow arched high. He scratches his face.

He’s growing a beard. He doesn’t mean to be, but he can’t bring himself to care much when Bucky’s not there to tease him about it.

He picks up the phone. Puts it down. Picks it up again.

“God.” Steve slams his hand on the table. He wants to call Tony. They’d left it under such miserable circumstances. Tony had a different way of handling friends. What Steve saw as a buddy, someone to shoot the shit with and hang out with on weekends, Tony saw as a best friend.

Steve had been Tony’s best friend. Well, one of them. But Rhodey was more a brother than a friend. But he was what Steve would call an actual best friend. But that didn’t mean Steve got to diminish how Tony felt. And he did understand. If the tables were reversed, and Steve stood by a man who’d been the tools to kill his mother, he’d probably have been pissed too.

Steve just hopes time healed that wound.

He picks up the phone again and dials.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice.

Relief floods through Steve. It starts at his toes and races up into his face, his body warm and cold all over. He’s a whirlwind in spring, carrying along the fresh scent of new life and flowers.

“Hey Tony.”

“I gotta admit, I was kinda surprised when Sam answered.”

“Yeah.” Steve bites his lip. “Things aren’t easy.”

“Oh? And here I thought being a war criminal was the easiest job in the book.” Tony pauses and Steve doesn’t say anything because his throat’s dry. “Why aren’t things easy?”

“Sam talk to you at all?”

“No. Just said you’d call me when you could. Where are you?”

Steve doesn’t want to answer that. Answering that exposes him and his friends. He’s worked hard to get them all here. Wanda would die if she got sent back to Sokovia and the rest? Life sentences. Had to be. Steve included. No. Steve couldn’t even tell Tony.

“I’m safe. Bucky’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“It really wasn’t him, Tony.” Steve leans forward, prepared to beg and grovel if it meant getting his point across. He feels jittery inside, like little gerbils are racing around and tickling his insides.

“Do you really want to talk about that right now? Or why I called in the first place?”

“I do want to, Tony!” Steve bites his lip. He can’t raise his voice now. Not when they’re finally speaking again. “I need you to understand that it wasn’t him. Hydra owned everything about him. They’re killing him now and we can’t even stop it.” Tears fill his eyes.

Tony doesn’t speak, so Steve keeps going. Because as he thought, he was prepared to beg and grovel.

“He’s dying, Tony. There’s some—protein or something. He’s dying and I can’t stop it. Not without a perfect strand of my serum. And everything we do keeps failing.”

Tony still doesn’t speak.

Steve’s a mess of tears. His throat is swollen and each swallow drags with it all the regret accumulated in a man as unique as Steve. One with remorse for the men he couldn’t save in the war. One with the anguish over a man he let fall from a train. Steve had more regret now than anything else. No hope. No optimism. Just a desperate hallelujah.

_Let Bucky live._

“You need someone to isolate the supersoldier serum to save Bucky?” Tony finally asks.

“To save the love of my life—yes.”

There is a small gasp on the other end and then silence.

Steve cries into the cellphone, his pride and machismo far abandoned. Men were allowed to cry when no one was there to see it. He doesn’t much care if Tony listens. He’d broken down in front of Wanda, Sam—Bucky. It was only a matter of time before he cried in front of the world. He’d been pushed so far beyond the limits any ordinary man could handle. The war made men cry. That’s the first place he’d seen it.

“I wanna help you,” Tony says. “But I need to know where you are. T’Challa’s got you, right? I mean NATO is pretty sure but I just need to hear it from you.”

“No,” Steve says quickly. “I can’t tell you.”

“Okay fine. Then come to me. A safe space. I’ve met—a guy.”

“A guy?” Steve quirks a brow.

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice is clipped, hiding more than he wants to let on. Steve shouldn’t be suspicious, he knows Tony and Tony has never lied to him—not the way Steve has—at least. There was Wanda but even that, Steve isn’t sure how much of that was a lie versus what Tony genuinely thought was the right thing to do. How many people fought over two different opinions on what felt right? Steve’s sure it’s an endless list. “Look, can you make it to New York? Is that something you can do?”

“I—maybe.” Steve thinks about Bucky. He’s in no condition to travel and there’s so much time between Steve leaving and coming back. “No. Actually. No.”

There’s a long sigh on the other end of the phone. Steve can picture Tony, crumpling into himself, his fingers ruffling his perfect goatee.

“But—you can come here. To Wakanda, yeah. Or—wherever we are. I’m not really sure if we’re in Wakanda or not. I don’t see a city. Just fog and mountains.”

“Don’t panic,” a voice says behind Steve. It sounds like Tony, but that’s impossible. Tony’s on the phone with Steve and somewhere in the US. The voice behind him iis mere feet away.

Steve turns around, eyes wide.

Tony stands there, hands shoved in a soft hoodie with a man in a red cape beside him. He quirks a brow, smirking. “Turns out if he can visualize where he’s going, he can just send ya right on through a golden circle thing and bam. That’s that.”

“Tony.” Steve runs up to him, forgetting their fight. Forgetting that he’d nearly killed Tony. Or maybe that’s why he does it. He pulls Tony into a tight hug, smelling his sharp aftershave, feeling his smaller shoulders and the rhythmic pat of a hand between his shoulders. Steve pulls back, looking from Tony to the man with the cape.

“Dr. Strange,” the man says.

“You can create portals?” Steve asks.

“Among other things, yes.” The cape around him floats like it has a mind of its own. Steve isn’t so sure that’s not the case. “I was a neurosurgeon before a sorcerer.”

“So you can help Bucky?”

“I can help direct the people who’ve already _been_ helping Bucky, yes. But not because I’m a doctor. Because of this.” He shows Steve an orange glowing stone, hovering in a clear bottle. “This is the time stone.”

Steve’s mouth runs dry. “The time stone.”

“This is a closely kept secret, Steve. I saved the world with this once and I’d like for that knowledge to be kept private. You and Tony are the only two outsiders who know I have it in my keep.”

Steve doesn’t think it’s polite to speak, so he doesn’t.

“This stone could help create the serum again, by getting Dr. Erskine to write down his final formula. Or at least all his notes. With those, the Wakandan doctors would take them and apply their expertise to the serum—thus creating the supersoldier serum again. I cannot think of another country more deserving of this secret.”

Steve steps back. “Erskine.” He sees him again, his silver glasses, his salt and pepper stubble. He hears his voice and feels the soft push of his finger on Steve’s tiny torso. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man. Steve closes his eyes, tears threatening to fall again. The magnitude of this revelation pulls at his soul, taking all his effort to stay present lest his memories drown him. He can hear them howling. A time stone could fix everything. Instead of just the formula, Steve could save Bucky. He could fix _everything_.

“Steve?”

Steve opens his eyes and sees T’Challa standing there. He’s frowning, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

Steve looks around the hall and finds no one but himself. “Oh.”

“Oh?” T’Challa asks. “Daydreaming?”

“Or wishful thinking. One or the other.”

T’Challa playfully bumps Steve’s shoulder, smirking. “You are a good man, Steve.”

Steve ears Erskine again. Not a perfect soldier… He doesn’t trust himself to go back to a living Erskine and not try to stop what happened. To stop Bucky from falling.

“You and Sam doing well?” Steve asks, because he doesn’t want to think about what Strange and Tony said. He doesn’t even know if they were real. He looks to the phone in his hand. He’d dialed Tony’s number. Someone answered. They had to have been real.

“Yes.” T’Challa lets a smile spread on his lips. “But we’re concerned about you.”

“If you had a chance to go back and correct the biggest wrong of your life? Would you?”

T’Challa looks into Steve and Bucky’s room. Bucky is sound asleep, resting like a corpse in the bed. Steve doesn’t like that he sees Bucky like that—dead. But he’s so used to seeing Bucky so still now. Cryo. The sleeping. He hasn’t woken since they’d been intimate with each other. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see Bucky’s eyes again.

“We’re running out of time, Steve.” T’Challa sighs. He pinches his brow. He lets Steve see the vulnerability inside him. He’s not just a king, but a man. He’s a good man who tries to do right, but that doesn’t mean he can move mountains, no matter what Steve wishes. T’Challa is but one man, and he needs Erskine’s formula to save Bucky. “I do not regret the biggest mistake in my life. You learned from that mistake. So no. I would not.”

Steve sighs, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“But if I had the chance to make amends for that mistake. I would take it.” T’Challa frowns, his brown eyes looking from Steve and to Bucky. “We’re running out of options. Your blood doesn’t want to give me your serum. It protects it.”

“Wonderful.” Steve knows there’s only one thing he can do. He has to face Erskine and then let him die—all over again. The man who took a chance on Steve, who saw him for his full potential and not just the asthma, the scoliosis, or the colorblindness. He truly saw Steve.

A good man.

Steve pats T’Challa on the shoulder and mumbles that he knows T’Challa is doing all he can, and then he goes back to be with Bucky.

He sits next to the bed and takes Bucky’s hand. He feels Bucky’s pulse, light but steady. It’s that obstinate personality, Steve knows it. Bucky was as big a bullhead as Steve was. He doesn’t want to die, so he refuses to let it happen. He’s so much stronger than Steve. He shouldn’t be the one to fade away like this.

“I’m gonna save you,” Steve whispers, “just like you saved me.”

Because Bucky had saved him. He’d saved him over and over, day in and day out. He chased off the bigger kids who Steve picked fights with. He brought Steve medicine when he was too sick to move. He cooked and cleaned for him when Steve just gave up on life. He’d been Steve’s guardian angel. Now it was Steve’s turn to do the same.

“I love you,” Steve whispers. The words fill him up with joy, bubbling high up into his throat. He feels giddy, like he’s inhaled too much air. He’d float to the ceiling if it were possible. “I love you so much.”

Bucky’s eyelids twitch. He laces his fingers into Steve’s, his lips barely moving but saying, “Love you too.”

Steve laughs, kissing Bucky’s wrist over and over. Their fight isn’t over. Bucky’s life will not end here. Dr. Strange has given Steve the tool to finally help T’Challa crack the serum. Wakanda will have the supersoldier serum. If any country is worthy, it’s Wakanda. Dr. Strange is right, Steve knows it. T’Challa will guard the serum zealously and never let it fall into sinister hands. He’s the safest person Steve can think of to have the serum.

Steve stands to give Bucky a kiss on the forehead. “I know how we’ll save you.”

Bucky smiles, his lips so pale that Steve’s afraid he’s a whisper away from death.

“I promise you Bucky. You’re not gonna die like this. I know how you’re gonna die, this ain’t that.”

Bucky cocks a brow. He looks over at his water cup and Steve moves quickly to bring it to his lips and help him take a few sips.

“You’re gonna be so old, Buck. So old. I’m talking, super gray hair, dangly balls and all those skin spots.”

Bucky chokes out a laugh. “Dangly balls.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. Dangly balls. Down to your damn knees. And I’m gonna be right there with you. Holding you until the end.”

Bucky smirks again. “Sap.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am. We’re not done livin’ yet, Buck. We got so much more to give.” He cups Bucky’s face, his thumb brushing back and forth along the cheek. Bucky’s so cold, his face so pale—Steve knows there isn’t much time left. If he’s to do this, he needs to do it now. “We’re gonna get married. Travel the whole world and adopt a bunch of kids. Like Bruce Wayne in the Batman comics.”

Bucky smiles, his chilly hand cupping Steve’s, holding it there against his face. He mouths ‘keep going.’

Steve’s gut is in knots, his throat threatening to clamp shut with the anguish that cascades down him, a painful hail that berates his pores and slices his nerves. “We’ll get a dog and name her Daisy, cause your sister liked daisies best.”

A tear slips down Bucky’s face. He’s too weak to smile but Steve can see the way it twitches at the corners of his mouth. He feels it in how Bucky’s hand trembles against his own.

“We’ll sit on our front porch and—rock in stupid rocking chairs. With lemonade.” Steve’s eyes blur. Warmth fills his eyes. He can’t make out Bucky’s face anymore, it’s nothing but streaks and blobs of color as he blinks through his tears. “We got so much livin’ left, Buck. The world won’t take you from me yet.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips, his muscles squeezing around bone till he almost snaps. Bucky’s so cold. His breath a soft whisper against Steve’s lips.

Time is almost out. If Steve goes, he goes now. Or he loses everything he wants to have with Bucky.

“I’ll save you,” Steve says again. The universe is tearing itself apart around him. It stretches and twirls about, a frenzy that Steve can’t understand. It urges him to go, to stop wasting the time it’s tried to keep for them but he’s planted, afraid that he’d destroy life as he knows it if he moves. He kisses Bucky again and tastes pennies in Bucky’s mouth.

He doesn’t want to look at what’s the cause. When he opens his eyes, his eyes are right before Bucky’s, a calm storm—a lazy rainy sky. Steve wants to paint the world in that gray hue. To wrap himself in its serenity and feel ll the secrets of the universe filter into his mind. To know Bucky’s eyes is to know the meaning of life. He wants to dive in and taste the forbidden fruit just as Eve had.

“I love you,” Steve says again, a whisper over Bucky’s chapped lips.

Bucky nodded, too weak to say it back.

“I will save you.” Steve kisses Bucky again and again. He rips himself away, body falling into ice. He feels tendrils spring out to hold him to the room. A war with every step. He slogs on, pulling himself away, lifting his legs high to keep moving.

Dr. Strange is waiting in the hallway, the Time Stone hovering above his palm.

“Theoretically, you have an infinite amount of chances for this,” he says, “but time will move here while you’re gone, so in the interest of Bucky, we have one chance,” he said.

“So we go back to Erskine, get his formula and give it to T’Challa?”

“I read he never wrote the formula down. You have to convince him to give it to you.”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky. He’s fast asleep again. He’s sure they could alter time again and give the formula to T’Challa before Bucky dies, should he die, but Steve doesn’t want him to ever experience it. Not even once.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Telling him you’re from the future doesn’t often work out. Just so you’re aware.” Dr. Strange grabs Steve’s arm and the world disappears.

Steve’s body is pulled by a hook at the middle of him. He’s afraid with the speed they move that his skin will slip off. He’s too afraid to open his eyes, hearing the roaring and moaning all around him.

He falls hard onto the ground, face burning from impact. He rubs at his face, blinking into the world. People walk on by him on the sidewalk, women carrying black umbrellas with their hair curled and lips red. Men in striped suits look him up and down before walking off. He hears the splash in the street and turns his attention there. Cars he hasn’t seen since before the ice honk and roll on by. There’s a pharmacy that he recognizes. A furniture shop. New York is claustrophobic in the way he remembers it with smoke, gray buildings and too many booths on the streets. It’s not noisy because of humming lights and ads for cell phones. It’s humming because of people’s beating hearts and their excited voices. The New York he and Bucky knew.

“Oh my God,” Steve says, eyes doing their best to drink in the sight until they’re practically spilling the information down into his brain. He never thought he’d see it again. “This is—”

“Welcome back to 1940, Steve.”

 


	5. But a Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of their story. They won't let it end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so long, it is finally a D O N E
> 
> I may have gotten super mushy at the end but tbh, I don't care. XD
> 
> Not beta'd, some errors are bound to be present.

Steve walks by a radio shop. He presses his face to the window, eyes scouring all the radios inside. They’re all blaring the same music, the brass wailing over the easy tap of piano and smoky vocals. Steve’s tapping along, a smile on his face. It’s such a serene moment, seeing the world he’d been so cruelly ripped from before. He wishes he could take Bucky back here and just live out their lives, away from the cruelties of the modern world.

This was Steve’s modern world, and he’ll never feel fully acclimated to the one he’s forced to endure day in and day out now. He likes the innovation, the food, the ease of life—but he misses _this_.

“Steve?” Strange says, his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Just give me a moment.” Steve closes his eyes, listening to the music just a bit longer. He can’t wait here forever. Bucky’s counting on him. Bucky, too weak to even speak. His lips cracked, cold and dry. Steve longs to kiss them again. It’s all over his body, dancing like flirtatious fingers. They’re running out of time. Steve rips himself away from the window, the music whimpering as he walks away.

“So where’s Dr. Erskine?” Steve asks. He’s wearing sweats and a simple tee. People are noticing his lack of culturally appropriate attire. “I should get some clothes.”

“No matter.” Strange holds his hand out and in the blink of an eye, Steve’s dressed head to toe in a black suit with white stripes. He’s got a nice gold watch on to match and his dog tags are carefully tucked beneath it all. Tie smooth as silk. He touches it a few times. He’s never worn something so sharp in his whole life, and he used to think his army greens were sharp as tacks. He’d been viciously wrong.

“This is—wow!” He checks himself in the reflection of another storefront. The suit fits snug around his muscles, but not in a terribly noticeable way. Just enough for even himself to recognize the power he holds. “I look good.”

Strange snorts, but he’s smirking, so Steve knows he’s not wrong. There are people in Steve’s life that he keeps at arm’s length. Some that he knows no matter what happens, he can’t truly let them in. Strange is not one of those. He keeps himself at a distance, which allows Steve to run at him for all Steve’s worth. Steve likes Strange. It’s an instant feeling and despite the reservations Strange has, Steve knows Strange likes him too.

“Where’s Erskine? What’s the date?” Steve asks.

“He’s in his lab. And you’re currently at basic getting your ass kicked.”

Steve smiles, thinking back on the days where he jogged the slowest but did, in fact, finish the run. Where he fell over the grenade to save the men who teased and mocked him. The ride back to base with Peggy. His heart tugs. Peggy. Here, she’s alive and as beautiful as Steve remembers her as. Her mind is sharp and she’s got such a future ahead of her. Steve still hasn’t broken her heart here.

“I know,” Strange says, putting a hand between Steve’s shoulders. “I was waiting for the pain to set in.”

“So many people are live here. Bucky isn’t even—shit.” Steve brushes tears from his eyes before they fall. He doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of New York during Wartime. People suffered here. Are suffering here. Steve’s right back in it. The women around him are losing brothers, husbands, and fathers.

“We could change so much,” Steve says. “We could stop Bucky from falling. We could save Erskine.”

“No.” Strange’s voice is absolute, his eyes unwavering. He’s a statue among the sea of people flocking to and from them. A constant reminder that no matter what Steve sees around him, they don’t belong here anymore. _Steve_ doesn’t belong here anymore.

The people around them, they’re not Steve’s people. Not anymore. The life he should’ve had here, it was all a lie. He was never destined to live out a life here. He was always destined for the future.

“Let’s find Erskine,” Steve says, “there’s not much time left.”

* * *

It’s not hard for Strange to manipulate and transport their way past security and the nice lady with the umbrella. Steve feels a tug on his heart thinking about her. She’ll die protecting the lab.

Seeing Erskine, bent over his notes, his glasses on the tip of his nose, his back hunched. Steve smiles, eyes watery. Erskine is alive, breathing and completely unaware of the tragedy that will befall him when he makes Steve into what he’ll become. Even Steve is unaware of all the suffering ahead for him.

Time travel hurts in a visceral way that coils thorns around Steve’s throat. He can’t breathe, thinking about all the fear he’s past self will feel. The regret and anguish over Bucky. It started the second he got out of the machine that’d made him into what he is today. Maybe God punishes him because Steve defied his plan. Instead of dying young and sick, Steve became Captain America. Maybe it was never in Steve’s cards. Or maybe God knew he could take it. That Steve could handle the suffering and the heartache. That no one else was as uniquely qualified as Steve to handle defeat and death and loss the way Steve could.

Steve smiles, eyes watery. He feels that’s why he was chosen.

Steve notices Strange isn’t with him anymore. He’s alone, looking upon an Erskine that still hasn’t noticed his presence despite Steve being in his peripherals. His palms are sweaty.

“Um—hello?”

Erskine looks up, his hands slap over his notes. He tears his glasses off and goes to grab a gun.

“No! No you don’t need that I’m not Hydra!”

“That’s exactly what you’d say though. The very fact you know Hydra exists is troubling.”

Steve hears the gun click, bullet ready in the chamber. He keeps his hands up. He could move fast enough to disarm Erskine, but that wouldn’t serve any purpose here. He wishes he had a shield if push came to shove. It’s been so long since he touched a shield. His shield.

“Not a perfect soldier. But a good man.” Steve watches Erskine pause. “A good man told me that once. A wise one who believed in me when no one else did.”

Erskine looks to his notes and then back to Steve. “You look familiar.”

Steve smiles, his heart bubbling up. “Yes. You know me.” Steve puts his hands down. He takes off his blazer and tugs on his dog tags. They click together, jittery and excited to be useful after so long in hiding. He slips off the tags and tosses them over to Erskine. They skid on the floor and pause right before his boots.

Erskine slowly picks them up, his eyes widening when he looks back up at Steve. “We haven’t—”

“You will though.” The words hurt Steve. They pierce his lungs and crumble at his tongue. He watches a smile spread on Erskine’s face. He thinks he’ll create a supersoldier—and live. “But I need your help.”

Erskine frowns. “I want to ask so many questions.”

“You can.” Steve points to another chair in the room. “May I?”

“Of course, Steven.”

Steve smiles, eyes filling with tears. He wants to rush over to Erskine and tell him all the things he’s experienced since the day they created the first superhero. He wants to tell Erskine about the future and all the advancements the world will discover. He wants to save him. He wants to save him more than he’s ever wanted to save anyone.

“So explain this to me. If you’re who you say you are, let me ask you a question that only you’d know the answer to.”

Steve nods. It’s only fair.

“When we first met, what did you tell me? The reason I chose you.” Erskine sits down but keeps the gun close by. Steve doesn’t fault him for that. He doesn’t fault Erskine for anything. He’s the father Steve wishes he could’ve had longer. The one that made Steve feel like his meager life had mattered. Because it did. Everything Steve did, everything he suffered—God chose Steve the way Erskine did. He set Steve out on a miserable path because He knew Steve could take it. Erskine saw the same inside Steve. He saw Steve’s strength when even Steve didn’t. Steve’s so sure of it now, why it had to be him and no one else. He was destined to never truly get to live a life for just himself. No one else could do it better than Steve.

“I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

Erskine brings his hands to cover his mouth. Tears snuggle up to his eyes before streaming down his face. He nods a few times before inhaling deeply, gathering himself. The tears stop. He wipes the stragglers away.

Steve wipes his own tears away.

“Look at you,” Erskine says. “Just look at you.”

“It’s been nice.”

“And no side effects? Have you had any relapses? Fallen ill?” Erskine grabs a pen.

“Not yet. I had—I have panic attacks. But that’s it.”

“Panic attacks.” Erskine frowns. “You’re stressed.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Always. When you can do what I do, you sacrifice yourself because it’s the right thing to do. But I’m not alone anymore. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could—there’s so much I want to tell you.”

Erskine looks away. “I see I’m not around to hear it all.”

“It’s a long story. But maybe I could tell those parts.”

Steve tells Erskine about the war. He tells him about Bucky and how Zola created another version of the serum. They talk about the war and Steve tells him the Nazis lose. They talk about how Steve manages to survive in the ice for decades. How he wakes in the future—a world where all he knows is gone and everyone is old or dead. He doesn’t tell Erskine how he’ll die. He doesn’t think he’s allowed. He keeps looking over his shoulder for Strange, but the man isn’t there. So he keeps going. He talks about the Avengers, the aliens. Bucky. He tells him everything about Bucky—including their love.

They talk for hours. Erskine grabs Scotch and they share a few glasses. Steve can’t get drunk and he tells Erskine that. Erskine looks horrified at the finding. He apologizes like it’s something that would’ve mattered to Steve. It doesn’t.

Erskine looks at the clock, smiling. “I’m supposed to be meeting you soon.”

Steve nods. “I know. I remember.”

“I may as well drink with that you too.” He takes out another bottle of Scotch. “Only to be fair.”

“Of course.” Steve smiles.

“Your life is so—magnificent, Steven. But I cannot help but feel guilty. I took your life away from you.”

Steve reaches out and grabs Erskine’s knee. He forces their gazes to lock and shakes his head. Steve doesn’t want to see Erskine’s shoulders slump. He cannot stand the sadness he sees in those dark eyes. “No. You gave me a life. I’m grateful to you every day. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you.”

Erskine adjusts his glasses. “There’s only you and Bucky? With serum?”

Steve’s spine trembles. “Yes.”

“I was charged with making an army of you.” Erskine cringes. “Why aren’t there more?”

Steve bites his lip. He thought he’d been clever when he avoided Erskine’s fate. He’d glossed entirely over the USO tours, the tragedy in the lab. He wants to lie, but lying has never been part of Steve’s nature. It’s foreign in his mind. It confuses him more than helps.

“Because you died.” Steve doesn’t look at Erskine’s face. “And my body doesn’t want to give up the serum. It protects it. We’ve tried to extract it. The only way to save Bucky is to replace his serum with mine. But mine won’t show itself and his is killing him from the lyzo-whatever.”

“Lysozyme.” Because of course Erskine had figured that out the second Steve struggled to tell him in the first place. He’d been able to guess all the degradation in Bucky’s body even with Steve’s barely-literate way of explaining it. “So you traveled through time to get me to give you the formula?”

“I wish it was a social call,” Steve admits. Because he does. He truly does. He wishes he could stay here and talk about Netflix and the glory of modern medicine. He wishes he could teach Erskine how to prepare modern food and introduce him to Steve’s ever-favorite—the microwave meal. But the clock is ticking. It whispers in Steve’s mind, a taunt that drags his brain into the darkness with each and every tick. Its presence chills Steve to the core, an ever-present reminder that the future rages on and so does Bucky’s illness.

“The secret dies with me. Until you take it back to your time? What year?” Erskine asks.

“2017.”

Erskine slugs back a shot of Scotch. He looks at his watch. “I won’t be sober if I keep speaking to you. I have to see you tonight.”

Steve smiles. “You will.”

“I will give it to you.” Erskine pulls out a single piece of paper. “I wrote it down once, all of it in its entirety. I was planning on burning it tonight. I’ll be burning all my notes. I won’t need them anymore now that I know you’ll be just fine.”

“The future isn’t set in stone. Something could go wrong. Who knows.” Steve takes the formula. He wonders if this is the reason why the formula was never written down and the notes were burned. Was it because Erskine always knew? Time is funny like that. “Don’t go in too over-confident.”

“Of course not. But I’m glad I got to see you like this. I’m glad I heard all that you become.” He smiles, sadness heavy in his eyes.

“I wish I could save you,” Steve whispers. It’s on the tip of his tongue. It balances there, a taunt that coils around his mouth. But without Erskine’s death, Steve wouldn’t leave the lab. He wouldn’t chase after Hydra. He wouldn’t hit the ground running with a purpose. He needed that purpose. But was a life worth it? Was Erskine’s death worth Steve’s inspiration? Steve didn’t think so. But that’s how history had wrote itself. And Strange had been absolute on the subject. They were not here to save Erskine. They were here to save Bucky—a life that straddled both past, present and future. Erskine’s journey ended with Steve, and Steve’s began with Erskine. But it ended with Bucky.

Erskine grabs Steve’s hand. “You saved me just fine.” He pats Steve’s hand before pulling back. “I have to go now. You’re waiting.”

Steve smiles. “Skinny and afraid. But I never thought you couldn’t do it. I believed in you—with all my soul.”

Erskine taps Steve on the sternum just like he did the day he’d eventually die. Steve chokes up, a whimper in the back of his throat. “A good man,” Erskine says. “You are a good man, Steven.”

Steve touches his sternum. Memories like rockets catapulting into his mind. He nods, unable to speak lest he fall into tears. He stands up, sucking in a deep breath.

Erskine does the same.

“Thank you,” Steve says. He pulls Erskine into a hug and feels the man go tense. There’s an awkward pat on Steve’s back and then he’s pulling away.

Erskine, flustered, straightens out his glasses. “Well now.”

Steve just smiles. He feels lighter, but still terribly sad. He’s sending Erskine off to die tomorrow. He hasn’t even told him that. He can’t. Steve doesn’t know whether it’s a lie or just an omission. But aren’t they one in the same?

“Thank you for everything,” Steve says. “Without you, I’d never save Bucky and we’d never—” He stops, unsure how Erskine feels about the subject. He’d never indicated one way or the other. He only assumes Erskine doesn’t mind because he’s _Erskine_.

“I’m glad you found someone. Especially someone that can keep up with you.” Erskine smirks. “Always thought it’d be Peggy though.”

“I date her too.” Steve cringes. “And then I kiss her niece and it’s weird.”

Erskine barks out a laugh.

“Bucky’s my soulmate. It just took us a few decades to figure it out.”

“Better late than never.” Erskine picks up his fresh bottle of Scotch. “Go save him, Steven.”

“Thank you.” Steve doesn’t want to leave. His feet plant into the ground, doing their best to burrow beneath the tiles. He wouldn’t have moved but then he feels the hook at his stomach. He hears the howls around him. They’re moving through time and Steve never warned Erskine of how he’d die. Erskine, the brave man, never even asked how. He just needed to know he did. Steve guesses that isn’t unusual. Everyone knows they’ll die. It’s just usually a shock if they found out when.

Steve wonders how he’ll die. He hopes if he does before he’s old, it’s with Bucky.

He can’t live a moment without him. Not anymore.

* * *

It’s disorienting when Steve finds himself in his and Bucky’s room. He’s holding the serum’s formula. The paper doesn’t look old by any means, but it’s just traveled seventy-seven years into the future.

Bucky’s asleep, purples and pinks around his eyes, his lips pale. He doesn’t even stir when Steve walks close to the bed. Steve reaches out to cup Bucky’s face. He’s grown a short beard since coming out of cryo—smooth bristles cover his face, obstructing the sharp angle of his cheekbones. Steve traces his finger along his jaw. Nothing could hide that beautiful jaw from Steve.

Bucky’s eyes flutter open. He looks up at Steve without any trace of emotion, just a dead stare.

“I love you,” Steve says. He shows the formula, though Bucky doesn’t react.

Bucky just blinks slowly and with more effort than Steve wishes he needed to just blink.

“You’re gonna be safe soon, Buck. Just hang on a little more.”

“St— Ste—ve.”

Steve’s heart squeezes. He kneels by the bed, taking Bucky’s hand. He kisses Bucky’s weak pule point, waiting for Bucky to speak.

“Lo—ve.” Bucky just nudges his head a bit toward Steve and then his eyes go closed.

Steve stops breathing because so does Bucky. “Hang on Buck.”

He runs from the room to the sounds of Bucky’s flatlining. They’re so close. Steve has the formula in his very hands. This can’t be how it ends. Not after losing Erskine all over again. Not after being back in a world where Bucky was alive. Steve didn’t want to be in one where he was dead. He thought he’d been once before and he couldn’t tolerate it again. He’d die. He’d simply die.

He runs into T’Challa, tears pouring from his eyes. He shoves the formula into T’Challa’s hands and says, “Just do it.”

T’Challa doesn’t question him. He looks over the words scribbled on the paper and then he shouts. Bodies swarm around them but Steve doesn’t register faces. He falls to the floor, arms wrapped around himself. Bucky flatlined. He doesn’t know if he’s alive or gone. He doesn’t know if they can save him.

They came back too late. He looks up at the movement, headlights moving too fast in the night. He can’t see where one body starts and another ends. He looks for a red cape but finds none. They need to come back sooner!

Steve tries to stand up but he collapses to the floor. He hears someone in front of him, words filter into his ears but it’s a language he doesn’t speak. He sees a face, feels hands on his arms but he doesn’t know what they’re doing. He panics. Bucky’s dying—or dead—and Steve’s still breathing. He needs to find Strange and make them come back sooner! But the hands are pulling him, tearing at his body and he’s breaking to pieces. He’s a mountain under too much pressure and he’s crumbling beneath their weight. Fingers like snakes slither around him, they yank and nip and he tries to pry free.

He hits his head and sees a flash of white.

“It’s okay! Steve it’s okay!”

It’s not okay. Bucky is dying. Steve’s in a world where he doesn’t exist again and he can’t move past that. It’s a pain his body won’t let him heal from. It’ll stay red, violent and putrid. It’ll fester until he finds a way to make himself just _end_.

“Steve! Bucky alive! He’s gonna be okay!” A woman’s voice.

Steve blinks furiously, his eyes fighting him. He isn’t sure if he can’t see in color or if his eyes are just going blind. He reaches out and touches soft hair. A hand grabs his.

“It’s me, Steve. It’s Nat.”

“N-Nat.” He frowns. Natasha is in a cell. This isn’t reality. Strange dropped him here, a world cruel where Bucky is dead and he can’t stand to go find a bridge to fall off of himself. Natasha isn’t here.

“Steve! Steve look at me!” He feels hands shake his shoulders.

Steve looks up and sees blond hair. “Liar.” Natasha has red hair. Does Strange take him for a fool? He tries to stand up again, shrugging off the imposter and shoving her into the wall.

“Woah! Hey!” He hears a man’s voice. More hands pull at his body and Steve growls.

Why won’t they just let him die? All he wants is to be with Bucky.

“Wanda! Do something!” Another voice.

Steve shoves his shoulder into the man who’s touching him, hearing the wall give way as it cracks from the force. He hears the man groan and Steve takes a few unsteady steps into darkness. He can’t see anything. He blinks. He blinks over and over but the world is gone. He’s in a vat of darkness. It slithers around his feet like tar and drags him to the floor. It’ll pull him under and in that moment, it’s the first peaceful thought Steve’s had.

The black will take him. He’ll die and he’ll be with Bucky.

Warmth touches the back of Steve’s head. It spreads from his skull into his fingers. He sees Wanda’s face. Scott is helping Sam out of the wall and Clint has his bow and arrow trained on Steve but Nat’s standing in his way. Her lip is bloody. She’s blond. But it’s her. It’s undeniably her.

“Oh my God,” Steve says. “What did—I’m so sorry.” He cups Wanda’s face, eyes wide.

Wanda smiles, relief spilling into her features. She takes Steve’s hands and kisses his knuckles. It strikes Steve as so intimate that he blushes.

“Bucky is safe,” she says, “and Natasha is here to help you too.”

“And me,” Tony says as he comes into view. He’s still wearing that same soft hoodie. “We’re all here for you big guy.”

Sam groans again and rolls into Steve. “Except me. Fuck you and your shoulders.”

Steve laughs, slinging an arm over Sam’s shoulder. “You’ll live.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Steve looks at each face around him. All friends in their own right. Some have nearly died for Steve. Some have sacrificed their time, their convictions and their homes for Steve. Every single one of them means more to Steve than he thought possible. Erskine’s face filters into his mind and tears blur his vision. His family—this family—started with Erskine. And Bucky.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“He had a scare,” Nat says with her arms crossed, “but he’ll be okay now.”

“The serum?” Steve’s brows pull up.

“T’Challa’s doctors are on it. They’ve currently got Bucky in a low-level stasis with some guy named Strange?” Nat cocks a brow.

“He’s good. I vouch for him,” Tony says.

“That says a lot.” Sam’s sarcasm can be felt miles away.  

Tony shrugs his shoulders at Sam. To an onlooker, none would be any wiser than Tony and Sam stood on opposite sides at a German airport. They’re all here again. Together when it matters. No man left behind.

Steve could laugh from how happy he feels. “Can I see Bucky?”

Wanda helps Steve up. She wraps her arms around his bicep and leads him back into the room. She doesn’t let go when they file inside.

Bucky’s wrapped in some strange energy, flickering around him like a lazy fire. It’s not opaque enough to hinder Steve’s vision but the strange flames are present enough for Steve to see them.

Strange is next to him, his hand hovering over Bucky and his eyes unblinking. T’Challa is speaking with his doctors, helping them interpret the serum. The doctors type furiously into the computers in the room. There’s hope in the air. It buzzes around everyone, reverberating and singing in their bones. The room isn’t made to hold so many people but more fill in.

This is it, Steve thinks. This is when they finally save Bucky. “The codes?”

“Your serum will heal them,” T’Challa says. “It’s designed to cure all ailments.”

“Will it bring Bucky’s arm back?” Scott asks. “Just curious.”

“We’ll see,” T’Challa says. “If not, I’ve got one I’ve been designing. I think it’ll be good.”

Steve smiles, unable to express just how genuinely appreciative he is of T’Challa. The words scramble up his throat but he can’t let a single one out without choking on them all. T’Challa smiles back—an understanding.

“It’ll be a few hours yet.” T’Challa looks over the serum again. “Even in Wakanda, some of these compounds will take time.”

“But Bucky can handle that?” Steve asks.

“I’ve got that part covered,” Strange says. He doesn’t look away from Bucky. “I’ve never tried this for more than a day without sleep but I think I’ll be fine.”

T’Challa smirks, looking back to Steve. “You should get some rest. Bucky will be fine.”

“That’ll be impossible.” Steve looks to Bucky’s face. He’s frozen in that corpse-like state. His body smaller now and hair longer. He looks so different from when Steve first saw him in Bucharest. But he’s still the same Bucky Steve’s known all his life. The jokes. The smirk. The eyes. It doesn’t matter what Bucky looks like. What he smells like. It doesn’t matter if he has both arms or no arms. Steve loves him. Steve loves him more than he loves his own heart. Standing there, watching the Wakandan doctors work, watching T’Challa speak to them about the serum and feeling the hum in the room. How is Steve supposed to sleep through this?

He wants to be there when Bucky wakes up. He needs to be.

Hours slowly pass. Steve’s friends come and go from the room. Some nap in the hall. Some play card games. Steve stays with Strange. He’s in a chair, his hand holding Bucky’s. It’s ice and his pulse doesn’t beat. Strange swears he’s not dead. “He’s just paused between beats,” he’d said. Steve trusts him.

What was supposed to be hours turns into two days. Strange struggles to stay awake because of boredom (Steve finds that amusing), so Steve reads him books. They make no sense to Steve, all full of magics and spells, but Strange enjoys them.

Sam brings food for them. He huddles in the corner with T’Challa, stealing kisses when he thinks no one is looking. Everyone is looking. Steve’s happy for them. All Steve wants is for his friends to be happy and to live their lives the way they choose. Just because Steve isn’t allowed to live his doesn’t mean the others have to suffer with him.

They complete the serum on the fourth day. Bucky still “between beats.”

Strange has to stop the stasis for the serum to replace the old one. It terrifies Steve because Bucky was actively dying when they’d literally paused his very existence. They’d explained why cryo wasn’t viable for him anymore, but he couldn’t help but compare the two. The difference, according to Strange, was that the stasis literally paused Bucky’s soul. Cryo didn’t.

Bucky wakes up screaming. The serum being injected much like it’d been injected into Steve. Tiny little needles all over his body. Steve wants to reach out and tell him it’s okay but it all happens so fast.

The serum eats away at the old one. Bucky still screams. He’s held down by Wakandan doctors. Steve can’t help but think about the fear in Bucky’s mind. Is he picturing Hydra doctors instead of the well-meaning doctors here?

Steve watches his vitals go from dangerously low to what he assumes is perfect. The lights on the monitors flicker and celebrate. A steady sinus rhythm repeats over and over on the heart monitor.

The doctors all move back and Steve shoves forward. “Buck?”

Bucky turns to Steve, breathing hard. “I feel like I just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“It’s a little weird. I remember it too. You’re warm too, right? Like you just ran?”

Bucky nods.

“They recreated my serum and gave it to you. It killed the other one.”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“The codes are gone. Everything that Hydra had in you, it’s all gone. You’re free, Buck. You’re free and you’re okay.”

Bucky licks his lips. He looks about the room, clearly uncomfortable being stared at by so many. He finds Sam and the rest of the Avengers and smirks.

“Last time I saw Tony he blasted my arm off,” he says.

“That was an accident. You broke into my arc reactor and caused it to surge. I didn’t mean to do that.” Tony looks genuinely apologetic. He’s even fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Gonna try to kill me again?” Bucky asks.

Tony shakes his head no.

“Good.” Bucky looks back up at Steve. He sits forward, groaning. The serum did not bring his arm back, but it did smooth over the vivid scaring on his body. He looks at his shoulder and then back up at Steve. “I feel good again.”

Steve smiles, nodding. He wants to kiss Bucky all over but too many eyes are watching. He’s never quite shaken off the fears of displaying affection for another man in front of prying eyes. He knows no one here would care. T’Challa and Sam are both bisexual. But he still can’t let go of the past that he knows he no longer belongs to. He belongs to Bucky. To this future.

Bucky stands up and the doctors around him all flinch. Steve remembers when he did something similar. Peggy’s hand. He touches his chest, remembering the fleeting moment.

Bucky pulls Steve into him with his arm. He presses his lips to Steve’s and Steve has no choice but to go along with it. Bucky’s pressed flush against him. He’s not as large as he’d been when he went into cryo, but he’s firm and strong. PDA fears or not, Steve’s helpless but to give in.

They kiss like they’ve never kissed before. Their emotions spilling out and spiraling around each other. Silent fireworks that only they can hear. Steve feels a thread wind itself around him and Bucky. A knot is tied and he’s unable to move. They aren’t two people. They’re halves of a whole. In the last world. In this world. In the next world. They will _always_ be two halves of a whole. No matter who they are. What stories or horrors they face. They will _always_ find each other.

“You saved me,” Bucky says.

Steve nods, breathless.

Bucky kisses him again, his hand cupping Steve’s jaw.

“Well—actually T’Challa saved you.” Steve points to T’Challa, smirking when blush flushes into the man’s cheeks. “And all these doctors.”

Bucky laughs, kissing Steve again.

Steve isn’t sure what happens next. The room opens up and everyone is gone. He finds himself in the bed and his clothes are gone.

Bucky’s atop him, he’s grinding down on Steve, his hand on Steve’s throat for balance and just enough squeeze to get Steve’s dick throbbing hard.

“Want you in me,” Bucky whispers by Steve’s ear. “I’ve waited way too long for this and we can finally do it.”

Steve laughs. He’s wanted this too. He looks over to the door and notices it’s closed. He doesn’t remember closing it. All he can remember is Bucky’s hands on his hips. Bucky’s hair trailing along his collar bone. Just Bucky. Bucky.

“It’s weird,” Bucky says. He pauses his thrusts, his cock resting atop Steve’s. “But you’re all over in me already. I can feel you. Your serum.”

Steve trails his hands up and down Bucky’s torso, enjoying the pink flush—the life—in him. He smells like skin again. No more copper. No more blood pooling beneath his ribs. He’s alive and healthy.

“What’s it feel like?” Steve asks.

“Warm. I’m so damn warm.” Bucky leans down to kiss Steve and he grabs their cocks, pumping back and forth. “Wanna be warmer though. Want you warmer.”

Steve nods, his mind hazy.

“God, Steve. I just—I feel so alive.”

“You look so alive.”

“I’m tingling all over. My head’s all—weird. Everything’s so easy. My serum didn’t have shit compared to yours.”

Steve snorts. “Less talking more touching.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky bites the side of his lip before sliding down Steve’s body. He laps at Steve’s cock, watching the way Steve arches up, gasping. “I can be cruel if you push me, Rogers.”

“N-no. No cruel. Love me.” Steve reaches under Bucky’s arm and does his best to tug him up. Bucky comes back up, but only because he lets Steve guide him.

“I know we’ve got time now,” Bucky says, “so there’s stuff I wanna do that we don’t have to do yet. But I want you inside me. That I want. Right now.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

They rock into each other, Bucky’s hand skittering up and down Steve. Touching his beard. His chest. His cock. Steve gets his hands on Bucky’s ass and he fingers him open, exploring the ways he can bend and expand his fingers—listening to how Bucky responds. Chirps. Moans. Groans. Full-blown mewls that rock Bucky’s whole body. Steve wants to explore them all.

They don’t waste time with foreplay, Bucky’s intentions already more than known. When Steve slips inside, his body is afire. His nerves scream Bucky’s name, over and over in an unending frenzy. More desperate than the moment before.

Bucky’s atop Steve, his ass soft and strong and it swallows Steve with ease. Cock bouncing with each thrust.

Steve’ll die like this, and he won’t even be upset about it.

Bucky is everywhere, surrounding Steve, above Steve, with Steve. His sweat makes him sticky and they meld together, bodies pushing closer, nerves more frantic for each other. Hands explore thighs, the curves of necks and fingers dip into each other’s mouths just to see what the other looks like sucking on the tips and looking straight into their lover’s eyes.

They come more than once. More than twice. The world darkens outside but they don’t stop. Steve doesn’t need to stop. Bucky doesn’t either. Their serum, identical now, is made for recovery—made to love—made for each other.

Kisses upon kisses upon kisses. Marks that show up and fade as quick as they’re placed.

Bucky scratches Steve just to see how long it takes for the skin to heal. An hour.

Steve fills Bucky with his come, over and over until he worries Bucky may get sick from it, but Bucky’s relentless. He holds Steve inside him, whispers the filthiest things he can think of and Steve’s a slave to it. He likes the itch as his come dries between his own asscheeks. He likes the burn in his lower back from thrusting up over and over.

He likes when Bucky turns around and lets him fuck him from behind, hips smacking hips until bruises show up on both of them, if only to fade minutes later. He likes how hot they are. How the room steams and the windows fog. He likes that Bucky is with him, that his serum burns inside Bucky. How they’re so intimately connected, far beyond the realm of basic physiology that it’s dizzying.

He likes having sex with Bucky. It’s awkward, funny, embarrassing, exhilarating, maddening and inspiring. It’s more than just two bodies touching. It’s more than the USO girls Steve had decades ago. It’s even more than the fleeting, desperate moments he had with Peggy if only to get them both to come and then they’d depart. It’s a song. It’s a promise. It’s a reckoning.

Steve’s stomach growls as Bucky’s lapping about his cock, his hand massaging at Steve’s balls.

They both stop, eyes filling with mirth before laughter erupts into the room.

Steve shuts his legs, covering himself. He can’t stop laughing.

Bucky climbs out of bed and wipes at the foggy window. “Oh.”

“What?” Steve asks, warm and well-fucked but he could go again once they got food in them.

“It’s morning. I think? It’s kinda stormy out.” Bucky leans on the window, his hand trailing between his sternum and down to his cock. “Now I just want you to fuck me outside.”

Steve snorts. “I’m hungry.”

“No shit. Heard it loud and clear.”

“We eat and then we can go fuck wherever you want. I don’t even care if you wanna try to find a crocodile mouth to fuck in.”

“That’ll kill us.” Bucky hops back on the bed, kissing Steve soft and tender. Their lips are chapped from kisses but Steve thinks if they wait five minutes they’d probably heal up enough to be soft again. “But I’m glad you like this.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

Bucky sits back, sighing. He lets his toe trace Steve’s inner thigh and it makes Steve’s cock jerk up. Bucky smirks. Proud of himself. “I was afraid you wouldn’t love me at all.”

“Buck.”

“No, lemme talk. There’s a lot I thought about when I was sick. Dyin’. Whatever.”

Steve waits, stomach still growling but his life is indebted to Bucky. He’d starve if Bucky needed him to.

“I kept thinking about you when you were tiny. I mean, we know how long we’ve been into each other and it’s dumb to think about now but. I’ve just watched you get more and more radiant. You’re at saint-level or whatever you Catholics call it. Ya know? And I’m just—” He looks at his hand and sighs.

“That’s not true.”

“Shut up Steve. It is. You sacrificed your life for me. You—chose me.”

Steve crawls into Bucky’s lap, his head resting against Bucky’s stomach. He knows he shouldn’t speak so he doesn’t, but he needs Bucky to feel his thoughts anyway.

“I just always think about that now, s’all. I’m this used up toy soldier and you chose me. I got gross. Vomit. Blood in my gums. My face. You never left me. You never cringed. Steve—I don’t know how you stay so strong and I don’t think it’s the serum that makes it. It’s you. You’ve got this—light—and it’s the most goddamned beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve always had it. Big or small. It’s always been there and I’ve always been devoted to it. A moth to a flame kind of thing.” He strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair. “But I’ve always been your shadow and I was scared that one day you’d wanna break from that. That my darkness somehow would hurt your light.”

“Buck—”

“I’m not done, stop. I just—I’m glad I get to be your shadow. I’ve got a lot I owe the world. A lot of families I hurt. But with your light? I think I can fix it. And I’m just so glad that when things get hard for me or things get—dark. I’ve still got you.”

Steve sits up. He brushes Bucky’s hair out of his face and bumps their noses together. “You’ll always have me, Buck.”

Bucky blinks tears out of his eyes, willing them away. “I know the doctors here saved my life. But when I say you saved me, I’m talking about something different. You literally helped me see that I can make amends for what I’ve done. I can’t bring back lives but I can give the world peace. I know you don’t wanna fight anymore. But I’m not finished, Steve. I need to do this.”

Steve sits back, chewing his lip. He’s so hungry his vision is spotting. “Where you go I go.”

“It’s not your fight.”

“Where you go I go.” Steve’s voice is firm.

Bucky leans into Steve, his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Thank you. Now let’s go get food, huh? Fuckin’ starved.”

* * *

**Months Later...**

Steve’s beard is full. His hair shaggy and it’s getting impossibly hard to keep pushed back. T’Challa pointedly reminded him that gel exists, but Steve likes the way Bucky gets his fingers all twisted into it when they make love. So he keeps it soft and touchable for Bucky.

Bucky’s sitting by their bed, his hair longer, his body hard and healthy. He’s staring at his hands. Steve knows Bucky goes into his mind and the demons there aren’t friendly. But Steve also knows Bucky needs these moments. This is how Bucky heals from something the serum couldn’t heal. It’s how Steve healed when he woke in a world with cellphones and the Internet. Sometimes retreating into the mind isn’t just to inflict pain. Sometimes it’s necessary.

Steve sits on the bed and watches. Bucky doesn’t even flinch. He stays still as stone. Steve grabs his sketchbook and begins with Bucky’s eyes.

The world is changing again. Gods are rising out of the shadows. Men like Strange. Like Thor. A threat looms on the horizon and the wounds of the past aren’t entirely healed. Tony—Steve knows he’s still hurt. Steve understands that part of Tony will never be able to look at Bucky and not think about his flesh hand wrapped around his mother’s neck. Steve bites his lip. He can’t even relate the thought in fantasy with his own mother. The image hurts too much that it shocks Steve.

But what hasn’t healed at least has an unspoken truce. Tony brought Strange and Strange helped get the serum. That in itself was the most heartfelt apology Tony could bring, and it was the only one that counted. Steve had written his, but even now he still feels he owes something else. Something he can’t find the words to say.

Bucky blinks, a shudder moving through him.

“Hey,” Steve says. He brings their foreheads close and feels Bucky’s breath hot on his face.

“I love you.” The words are rough, a voice drug through molten asphalt and dirt. A voice so beautiful to Steve that he shivers.

“I love you too,”” Steve says back.

Bucky crawls into Steve’s lap and curls his arms around Steve. Flesh and vibranium. Steve wants to do a watercolor piece of Bucky with that new arm. The gold is begging to be lovingly dipped to paper. Immortalized.

They don’t move because they don’t need to. The world’s urgencies can wait when they’ve fought so hard to have these quiet moments. They know what’s about to happen. They don’t need to panic or rush to greet it. It’ll come when it comes. For now, they rest.

They deserve rest.

Steve will never stop fighting. He will never stop giving his life for the world when it doesn’t thank him. When it doesn’t care for him. And he’ll probably die for it. A thankless death that they’ll resurrect monuments, they’ll hold speeches and fund scholarships. But the thanks he wants? They’ll never give him. He wants the jungle with its screaming words. He wants the hoots and the shrieks. He wants the rain on his face and the tremble of thunder above him.

He wants the world to keep on spinning. Regardless if he keeps spinning with it too.

He squeezes Bucky, a kiss on a metal shoulder that Bucky smirks at. The arm is no longer cold. It’s always warm, just like their bodies. Vibranium holds temperature better than metal.

When they leave this room, they aren’t just lovers anymore. They’re fighters. Bucky with his reasons, and Steve with his. They’ll punch. Kick. Fight. They’ll bleed. They’ll search for each other on a battlefield of men and women just as devoted to the world as they are. And maybe they’ll come home together again.

Steve hopes they will. Bucky gave his life for the world once. Steve doesn’t want him to do it again. And Steve doesn’t want to die if it means leaving Bucky alone. So the option is simple. Don’t die. Don’t die because it’s not their time. There’s so much left to give. To give each other. To give the world. To give their friends.

Steve hears laughter trickle from the hall. Sam and T’Challa are having their private moment before they walk away from this silence. The loudness of the jungle.

Bucky cups Steve’s face, his eyes so bright that Steve almost believes nothing can hurt them. “You come back to me.”

Steve takes Bucky’s fingers and kisses each one. A promise, unspoken, but more dedicated than one the tongue could give. His soul is speaking to Bucky’s. In every world. In every universe. In every conceivable scenario where a Steve Rogers and a Bucky Barnes exist—no matter the time. The place. No matter if they’re school janitors or presidents of the ruling world. No matter if they’re weak or strong.

Steve Rogers will always _always_ come back to Bucky Barnes. In this life. In the next life. In the thousands upon thousands written and unwritten.

Their souls will find each other. Their souls will know each other.

Steve chokes out a sob. It surprises both him and Bucky. Bucky sits up, his arms wrapping tightly around Steve’s shoulders. Steve feels kisses right below his ear. He closes his eyes, breath uneven.

“This will be over, Steve,” Bucky says, “and you and I will still be left standing.”

Steve holds Bucky just a smidge harder. He sniffs, trying desperately to stop the tears before they come. He’s not afraid of Thanos. He’s not afraid of the fight before him. He cries because he’s so lucky. He’s had the most unbelievable journey of not only a lifetime—but of countless ones. He’s gotten to fall in love with Bucky in war-torn Europe. In flying helicarriers. In water. In light. In dark. In sickness. In health.

A thousand stories. A thousand more.

Steve gets to fall in love with Bucky with every breath. With every blink of their eyes. He gets to fall in love over and over and he won’t stop falling until the universe removes itself from them.

“Marry me,” Steve says. It’s a cannonball out and spiraling away. A thought Steve didn’t even think.

Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s, tears warm and fresh on his face. They kiss soft and easy. Their tongues shy away from each other. Breath flirts against their cheeks.

Bucky wipes tears from Steve’s eyes and nods. He kisses Steve again.

“When this is over. When Thanos is gone and the world is ours again. I’ll marry you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve pulls Bucky into a hug, tight with shivering limbs. Emotions race through Steve, screaming, whispering, laughing, crying. They cloud his mind. They lock his fingers. They pull and squeeze and push and grind. Steve holds Bucky. Bucky holds him back.

They are day and night. Heads and tails. The East and the West. They are eternal. The world may not remember them. But they will remember each other.

Steve pulls back first. He adjusts his utility belt, a moment of confusion as he remembers how he’d walked into this room. Uniform on. Star torn out. He isn’t Captain America. He isn’t America’s darling or the hero from World War II. He’s Steve Rogers. Born in Brooklyn. Best friend to Bucky Barnes. Lover—fiancé—to Bucky Barnes.

He’s exactly what he wanted to be. He just hadn’t realized how far in the wrong direction he’d been looking. This was always who he was meant to be. The pain. The anger. The fear. The frustration. It all led him to this moment. It guided him with kindness, cruelty, accomplishment, defeat. It guided him like an old friend. A new beginning.

Steve wipes a final tear from his eyes. The world needs to live. Bucky needs to live. _They_ need to live.

“Let’s do this.” Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand and Bucky takes it. Together they walk out of their room a final time. Unsure if they’ll ever return but excited to know the rest of the story.

They will survive this.

Steve has a wedding to plan.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos (if you liked it haha)  
> Add me on [tumblr!](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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